I'm Your Boogeyman
by licoricewolf
Summary: "I'm your boogey man/ That's what I am/ I'm here to do/ Oh, whatever I can..." -Rob Zombie
1. The B Word

A/N: Alright, by popular demand, here is the sequel to _Man That You_ _Fear_. It's been about three months since Becky and Jonathan have last seen each other (all that time was covered in the epilogue). Have fun~

* * *

_The B Word_

Dr. Leroux straightened the papers on his desk, a slight flutter of trepidation in his stomach. He drained the last of his bitter workplace coffee, crushed the Styrofoam cup, and dropped it in the trash. He took in a long, slow breath, held it for a few moments, and then let it out again. Everything was going to be fine. He had been working in institutions for years. He had several degrees. He had been to all the required training sessions. He should be cool as a cucumber.

Instead, his leg jiggled up and down uncomfortably as he waited for his patient. He tapped a pen onto the open file, staring intently at the clock. He ground his teeth involuntarily as the minutes ticked by, and his patient still did not show up.

Then there was shouting outside. He jumped in surprise and flung the door to his office open, staring down the hall. His face grew hot as he realized what the commotion was.

Two orderlies were attempting to remove a burlap sack from a third, scrawny man's face. The orderlies were burly, and the burlap man's thin frame should have made him quicker, but the straitjacket he wore slowed him considerably. They were all shouting, and their words became muddled as they were amplified painfully by the close proximity in the hallway. One orderly finally managed to get a fist onto the fabric and gave a merciless tug—Leroux winced as he saw a few strands of hair go with it—and held it up triumphantly. Immediately, the skinny man lunged at the orderly and bit his arm.

Leroux had had enough. He dashed forward as the orderly cried out in pain, clutching his forearm and dropping the mask. The skinny man fell to the ground and tried to retrieve it, but a kick from the other orderly sent him sprawling. Leroux cried out furiously.

"Gentlemen!" The term was not fitting, but the sharpness in the doctor's voice caused all three men to freeze and look at him. "This behavior is unacceptable!" He could feel his cheeks growing hot once more as he blushed in embarrassment and anger, but he bent to help the skinny patient to his feet. The doctor swiftly picked up the mask and crammed it into the pocket of his white coat.

The orderlies muttered angrily, but left the doctor with his patient. Leroux attempted to put a comforting hand on the man's bony shoulder, but he shrugged it off swiftly. Leroux pursed his lips and held the door open as his patient sat down, and took his seat behind the desk.

He glanced down at the file and sighed. He looked at the patient, hunched grimly in the stiff chair, and said resignedly, "Well, let's get to know each other a little, shall we? Let's start with a name. I'm Dr. Leroux. Your file here says that your name is Jonathan Crane… Is there anything you'd rather I call you?"

The patient raised one eyebrow slightly, contemplating his doctor. Eventually, he sat up so they could converse more easily. He fidgeted a little in the straightjacket. "Have you ever held a teaching position, Doctor?" he said slowly.

Leroux frowned. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand-?" He left the question hanging.

His patient smiled slightly, and something flashed in his green eyes. "Interesting choice of words, Doctor," he said. "What _are_ you afraid of?"

Leroux coughed to clear his throat. "I'm familiar with your—uh, theories on fear and anxiety," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But I'm af—I am the one conducting the session here. I would appreciate it if you could keep that in mind. Now, I asked you if you'd prefer to be called by any name in particular?" He struggled to keep his tone firm but friendly.

The patient's smile faded and he nodded, pursing his lips a little, throwing his sunken cheeks into relief. "That's the first thing you do in a classroom," he explained. His icy eyes bored into the doctor. "The first day of school, all the kids want to know what to call you—the sooner they know, the sooner they can make up their rude little nicknames." His mouth twitched in what may have been a smile, but it was too brief for Leroux to identify any emotion. "Mean old Professor Crane, always giving them homework on the weekends. Crane the Pain. Professor Ichabod…" His mouth twitched up again, this time holding onto what was undeniably a wry smirk, and he leaned back in the chair. "Scarecrow."

Leroux swallowed uncomfortably.

"The name on the file should do just fine, Dr. Leroux," his patient said boredly.

"Alright. Um—" he cleared his throat again—"Jonathan, I'd like to start out with a simple word-association test, alright? I'm going to say a word, and you just tell me the… first thing that comes to mind…" His voice trailed off meekly at the sneer Crane gave him.

"I'm familiar with the procedure," he said dryly.

"Yes, well…" Leroux groaned inwardly. Why did he have to be paired with a former professor? He never did respond well to authority figures. "I've got the list here. We'll start with 'home'."

Crane stiffened momentarily, but complied. "Unpleasant."

" 'School'."

"Horrible."

" 'Mother'."

"Nonexistent."

" 'Father'."

"Desertion."

"Um… how about 'book'."

"Solace."

Leroux tapped his pen on his leg for a moment, scribbled down some notes, and continued. " 'Bird'."

He could see his patient's jaw clenching more and more as they went along. "Grandmother," the skinny man said tersely. The doctor was sure that it wasn't the first words to enter his mind, but he didn't say anything.

" 'Doctor'."

"Formerly."

" 'Criminal'."

"Desperate."

"Alright, last one, and then we'll move on. 'Scarecrow'."

There was a long pause. "Mask," Crane answered, his cold green eyes darting towards the doctor.

Leroux finished writing some notes, straightened the paper, and pulled a stack of cards out of a drawer in his desk. He tapped them on the desktop and removed a rubber band, explaining, "Now, this is a similar test, but I'm going to hold up a colored card and I want you to tell me what it makes you think of. Alright?"

"Yes, doctor," Crane said contemptuously. Leroux bit the inside of his lip and held up the first card. It was yellow.

"Straw," his patient said.

A green card.

"Isley," he answered, smirking a little.

The next few cards were white ("Hospital"), purple ("Chair"), pink ("Scars"), and black ("Chapel"). Finally, there were only three cards left. Dr. Leroux pulled one up, glanced at it, and turned it to face his patient. A small blue square was printed in the middle.

Crane hesitated. "Ca—Bruises."

Two cards left. He stared at the brown square before him. "Eyes," he muttered.

The last card was flipped over. Leroux's eyes flickered between it and his patient. He held it up for the straightjacketed man. A small red square stared back at his green eyes. He remained silent for a long time. "Just think of a word," the doctor said soothingly.

"B…" Crane narrowed his eyes at the card like it had said something offensive to him. "Blood," he said curtly.

Leroux's curiosity was piqued, but their time was just about up. There was no doubt in his mind that his patient had not intended to say "blood" when the red card came up. He wasn't worried, not really—he had all the time in the world to unravel the Scarecrow.

"Good-bye, Jonathan," he said pleasantly when the orderlies returned to take him back to his cell. Crane stood and stared at the doctor.

"What about my mask?" he said, somewhat imperiously.

Leroux's hand twitched toward the pocket of his white overcoat. "I'm sorry, Jonathan, but—I believe it's in your best interests if I… hold onto it for you. Just for now." He shifted uncomfortably as the skinny man's mouth twisted a little, but he allowed the orderlies to escort him out of the room without a fuss. The doctor let out a sigh of relief when the door was closed and the sound of their feet faded away. He slumped in his chair for a moment, and then started going over his notes and files.

First he scanned the psychiatric files Arkham had given him on Jonathan Crane. They weren't very extensive; one page was devoted to his description and a log of his arrests and confinements, another to a summary of various doctor's diagnoses. Most of the file consisted of transcripts of his therapy sessions. It didn't take long for Leroux to get a general idea of how the interviews usually went. It didn't help that he had overheard the other doctors' seemingly endless horror stories, told in gleeful detail over coffee and painkillers in the break room.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and reviewed his notes, clicking the pen open and closed.

Crane was smart, there was no denying it. He was an expert in his field, by all accounts. Granted, many of those accounts had been told in more colorful language and from the wrong side of a hospital bed, but that just proved that—

"Let me see him! LET ME SEE HIM!"

"Ma'am, you need to calm down—"

"I NEED TO SEE HIM!"

Dr. Leroux bolted out of his seat, his thoughts interrupted by shrill screaming and the sounds of a scuffle. He wrenched the door open and followed the shouting into the patient reception area, where he skidded to a halt, chest heaving, cheeks flushed.

A guard was holding onto a young woman, who was thrashing about like she was possessed. Another doctor, Sarah Cassidy, was attempting to console her. It wasn't working.

"Ma'am, calm down!" shouted the guard angrily as she struggled. She seemed to be halfway through admittance—a faded orange shirt hung on her slender frame, and a tattered chiffon skirt rustled as she twisted. Her striped stockings were falling down, and she had no shoes. Dr. Cassidy, usually so calm and collected, actually looked angry for once. She held a pair of orange pants and a paper bag.

"Miss Albright, _please—"_ she cried, ducking as the patient aimed a kick at her head. The guard snarled like a rabid dog and put his captive in an angry chokehold.

Dr. Leroux rushed forward with a shout. "Dr. Cassidy!" he exclaimed, horrified by the brutality. She took a step towards him, but remained facing the patient.

"Leroux, I need you to sedate her," she said grimly.

"I hardly think that's nec—"

"I didn't ask what you think, Leroux, I told you to sedate her!"

Dr. Leroux looked at her, askance. He had only been working at Arkham for a few weeks, and he had never seen her so angry. She glanced sharply at him, handed him a syringe, and barked, "Do it!"

He looked at the young woman being restrained by the guard. He took a few steps towards her, sucking in his breath angrily. He reached out, snagged an arm, and clutched it tightly. He nodded at the guard to let go, and lifted the syringe.

As soon as she was released, the woman began screaming again. "I NEED TO SEE HIM!" she shrieked, and Leroux was frightened by the look of desperation she had. "I NEED TO SEE—"

"SEDATE HER, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" Cassidy cried. Leroux jabbed the needle into the crook of her arm and grabbed her around the midsection to prevent her from wrenching away and breaking the needle. The woman cried out, but remained in his grasp, trembling violently. He slowly eased up on his grip, and Cassidy put her hands firmly on her shoulders. Leroux watched as the patient was steered away, wondering what had just occurred.

He glanced up and saw the guard staring at him. "Get used to it," the man said sympathetically, and then walked off before Leroux could reply. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, deciding to put the young woman out of his mind for now. He made his way back to his office.

He had been sitting for what felt like hours, pretending to review the files on Jonathan Crane, when there was a gentle knock on the door. Dr. Cassidy entered, an apologetic smile on her face.

"Look, Dr. Leroux, I'm sorry you saw that earlier…" she began.

"It's nothing," he lied, trying to sound nonchalant. "Who was she, anyway?"

"Actually, that's what I'm here about." Cassidy dropped a new file, this one considerably smaller than Crane's, on the desk. "Rebecca Albright is your new patient."

Leroux stood to ask her for more information, but she shook her head and departed. He frowned, sat back down, and opened the file slowly. The first thing he noticed was a newspaper clipping. He picked it up, read the first line, and felt his stomach clench uncomfortably. He swiftly closed the file and reached into a drawer, and pulled out the stack of colored cards he had used earlier in the day, his mind racing. Then he stood again and left his office.

He walked purposefully down the halls of the asylum, stumbling a little in his haste. It took him only a minute to reach his destination.

Dr. Leroux gazed into the dingy cell, taking in the stacks of books, the hastily-made bed, and the meager privacy it offered. The patient inside stared back at him, his cold green eyes dark behind the Plexiglas. Leroux inhaled sharply and stared back, thinking hard. Slowly, he pulled out the red card from his pocket and pressed it against the wall.

"It was a B word," he said.

"I told you. Blood." Crane raised an eyebrow contemptuously.

Leroux shook his head slowly, took a pen from his pocket, and scribbled something onto the back of the card. He turned it around and pressed it against the glass wall forcefully. Crane's eyes widened and he sucked in his cheeks furiously as he read the word on the back of the red card.

_Becky._


	2. Vices and Virtues

_Vices and Virtues_

Dr. Leroux stared down at the two files strewn across his desktop. Three weeks in at Arkham Asylum, and already he was juggling two patients with similar profiles. He sucked in some air and frowned in concentration, debating how to proceed. After a few moments he simply shook his head and picked up the phone, dialed a few numbers, and said, "Okay, I'm ready. Send him up."

Fifteen minutes later, a skinny man sat in the chair before him, his shoulders hunched under a stained straightjacket. His dark brown hair hung over his forehead, but did not hide his pale blue-green eyes—which, at the moment, were wide and angry.

"Where is she?" he demanded. His fists were clenched in the straightjacket sleeves and his jaw was stiff. Leroux sighed.

"Jonathan, I can't let you see Miss Albright right now. Now, if you could tell me—"

Crane let out a snarl and pitched forward in the chair. Leroux stood, fearing that his patient might be having some sort of seizure, but he seemed to just be frustrated. If he could, the skinny man would have been bunching his fingers into his hair. As it was, though, he had to settle on clenching is jaw and breathing heavily.

"Tell me where she is," he said angrily.

Leroux shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I'm not at liberty to do that."

"Yes you are."

"Jonathan, this is getting out of hand—"

"Did she scream?" Crane looked up at him, something gleeful and wicked lurking in his eyes. "Was she one of the nasty ones? Or was she nice and quiet?"

Leroux clenched his jaw.

"You seem anxious, Doctor."

"I would appreciate it if you would stay on topic, Jonathan," he said stiffly.

"What's got you so on edge? Is it me? Is it her?"

Leroux raised his eyebrows at his patient like he was an unruly child. "If you don't stop, I'll have to call security."

"I assume you've heard the other doctors lamenting the fate of poor Dr. Coombs," he said softly. "It would be such a pity if I were to lose another doctor so soon. Think of how far back it would set my therapy."

Leroux swallowed and took a pen in his shaking hands, but did not press the panic button in his desk that would bring security guards swarming to the office. Crane smiled, pressing his advantage.

"Let me see her."

"No."

"Let me see her."

"Jonathan, I've already explained this to you—"

"Let me see her let me see her let me see her let me see her—"

It was almost amusing to see a grown man acting so childish, but to Leroux, it was a bit sad, not to mention unnerving. He stared at his patient, his nerves wearing thin, unwilling to call security. He couldn't admit it, but something about Jonathan Crane put him on edge. Finally, he snapped.

"_Fine."_

"What?"

"I'll let you see her. _Eventually."_

Crane's smile widened. His eyes remained cold and condescending, but Leroux could see an obsessive quirk in the man's grin. It gave him an ominous feeling in the back of his mind.

The orderlies came to collect the patient, and Crane stood obediently, still smiling to himself. "Thank you, doctor," he said, his tone icy to match his eyes. Leroux shuddered. What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

"Good afternoon, Miss Albright." Dr. Leroux glanced up from the file to his new patient, straightjacketed and slumped over, just like his old one. He sighed. "Rebecca?" he said gently.

The girl looked up at him. She was still young; she couldn't have been out of college, at the most. Her hair was a little too red to be auburn, and it hung in tangled strands across her face. Her eyes were wide and dark, which, coupled with her slight build, gave her the look of a skittish doe. He wondered if that was part of Crane's obsession with her. Her small lips twisted as she bit the inside of her cheeks like a child in trouble.

"Is there anything in particular you'd prefer that I call you?" Leroux asked.

She stared at him, her brows knitting together a little. She shifted in the chair and said quietly, "Becky is just fine."

He nodded and scribbled something down in his notes for a moment, then set his pen down and looked at his patient. Her brows knit a little in curiosity.

"Becky, I'm going to ask you something—I'd like for you to answer it, but you don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable." She nodded.

"How would you describe your relationship with Jonathan Crane?"

She stiffened, like she had been caught doing something bad. Her lip twisted and she frowned at the doctor. "Didn't you read about it in the papers like everybody else?" she said coldly.

"I read that a seventeen-year-old girl had been attacked by a patient at Arkham. And I read that she had been kidnapped a year later by that same patient and lived with him for several months."

Becky stared at the desk. "I'd rather not talk about that," she said uneasily.

Leroux cleared his throat and said, "Alright, then, if you don't want to talk about that, would you tell me about your childhood?"

She exhaled quickly, like a surly teenager being told to clean their room. "Do you want to hear the abridged version, or the truth?" she asked, an angry pout forming on her lips.

"What's the abridged version?"

Becky leaned back in the chair. "I was always sick as a kid. I had bad legs, and I got hurt a lot, so I was in and out of hospitals most of my life. Because I was in the hospital, I didn't have any friends. Because I didn't have any friends, I threw myself into schoolwork. I was a sad, lonely, stubborn child."

"And what is the truth?" Dr. Leroux asked softly. She looked at him, almost a sad look, but not quite. It might have been pity. He couldn't tell.

"My parents were... misguided. They forced their own wishes on me, and I complied because... well, I didn't know any better. They died when I was in high school, and I started living on my own from then on. I never had friends; like I said, I was always in the hospital. When it wasn't some condition or other, it was a broken leg or a sprained wrist from running away. Even when I left elementary school, and they said… they said it would get better…" She took paused to keep her anger from bubbling over.

"What were you running from, Becky?" Leroux asked, though he thought he knew the answer.

"Them," she replied, her lip curling. Her words came quickly now, fueled by hate. "The other kids. Always. My whole life, they were… They hated me. Because I'm ugly and skinny. So they threw things at me, and they beat me up, and…" She stopped. Leroux pretended to write some notes down so she could regain her composure.

"And what about later in your life?" he asked. "High school? College?"

"High school," Becky echoed, smiling emotionlessly. "High school…" She stared up at the ceiling, remembering. "High school was better only in the sense that I had more freedom. I had my job, and I lived in a little rental house. I was still running… but this time I had a hiding place."

Dr. Leroux glanced up at her, wondering what she was thinking about. She took a breath and started speaking again, more to herself than to him.

"And then, my junior year…" She smiled and looked at her doctor. He blinked awkwardly for a moment, and then, realizing what she was referring to, he cleared his throat and started questioning her again.

"You seem to mark your first… encounter with Dr. Crane as a very important occasion."

"It was."

"But I don't understand, Becky…" Leroux leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "By all accounts, that would have been a very traumatizing experience for you. You were stalked, drugged, tortured—he almost killed you. So why aren't you afraid of him?"

She bit her lip. "You're right," she said quietly.

"About what?"

"You don't understand. You don't understand a thing."

He frowned in curiosity, and Becky stared back at him, her eyes hard. "I'm sorry if I offended you," he said eventually. She shook her head slightly, not looking at him.

Several minutes lapsed by in silence.

"Our time's almost up," Dr. Leroux said, checking the clock. "Is there anything you'd like to say before you leave?"

More silence. The orderlies knocked on the door and entered the office. He nodded at them, watching Becky stand with a melancholy feeling. One of the orderlies attempted to put a hand on her shoulder, perhaps to steer her out of the room, but she shrunk away from it with an uncomfortable look on her face. Before she left, she turned and met the doctor's eyes again.

"Actually, there's one thing you've got right, Doctor," she said.

"And what's that?" He quickly held his pen over the notepad. She just looked at him for a moment, and she almost seemed to be mocking him.

"I should be afraid of him."

And then she was gone.


	3. Riddles or Frocks

_Riddles or Frocks_

Jonathan Crane had been behaving unnaturally civil of late, and it made his doctor slightly uneasy. Because of his good behavior, he had been authorized to go back into group activities, and was no longer required to wear a straightjacket. Today was his first day being allowed into the recreational therapy room with other patients. Thankfully, Dr. Leroux had managed to fit him in when there were only a few other people in the room.

Jonathan took a few steps into the large homey room, smiling a little at his new freedoms. He flexed his fingers, enjoying the ability to rotate his arms once more, and scanned the room for signs of life. Humphrey Dumpler was sitting in a corner assembling a puzzle and talking with Jervis Tetch, both of them grinning happily. The television was on, but the couch in front of it was empty, so Jonathan made a beeline for it.

He got about three feet away from the couch before realizing that there were more than three people in the room. He blushed and immediately turned around, but the couple on the couch had already noticed him. A man with fluffy auburn hair sat up and poked his head over the back of the couch, grinning ecstatically.

"Jonny-boy!" he cried. A honey-blonde woman's face joined his on the couch's back.

Jonathan turned around slowly, his jaw clenching slightly in annoyance. "Edward," he said stiffly.

"Jon, come back here! Sit your butt down! I haven't seen you in forever!" Edward exclaimed, jumping up and down a little in excitement. The blonde snickered and pushed him aside playfully.

"Oh, leave him alone, Eddie, you know how he is," she said, but she turned and smiled at Jonathan invitingly. He groaned and sat down on the couch next to them, thankful that their clothes didn't appear too rumpled.

As soon as he was seated, Edward leaned over the blonde woman and said, "So, how long was it this time? Two weeks?"

"Fifteen days," Jonathan said distastefully, leaning away from the redhead. Edward pushed his lips out and sat back, ruffling the woman's hair and earning himself a light smack on the knee.

"Anyway, Beth here says she has something to tell you," he said quietly, smirking conspirationally.

Beth leaned closer to Jonathan and said quietly, "A little blackbird told me that a long-lost possession of yours has found its way back."

"You could call her that," Jonathan murmured, looking down at Beth. She was a good kid… although her taste in men was somewhat lacking, in his opinion. Edward watched them intently.

"What's the plan?" he asked, his green eyes wide. Beth looked at him expectantly.

Jonathan arched his brows sourly. "There is no 'plan'," he said. His fingers formed claws on his knees.

Edward chuckled gleefully and gave him a hard clap on the back. "Yeah, sure. You two were always so cute together," he teased.

Jonathan sneered. "I doubt that's a sentiment many others would share. I believe they'd opt for something more along the lines of—"

"Creepy? Invasive? Obsessed?" Beth offered.

Jonathan smirked and settled into the couch. Edward grinned and put his arm around Beth, squeezing her for a moment. "Looks like we've got a little bird to free," he said.

* * *

Becky curled into a little ball on her cot, shivering. She was allowed out of a straightjacket while in her cell, but that provided little comfort in her dank surroundings. Her bed was stiff and small, and the cell had minimal privacy; there was only a little half-wall shielding the bathroom area and she was sure someone would be able to see if they stood in the right spot. She trembled from the cold, but also from fear. Jonathan had mentioned Arkham Asylum a few times, but he never really elaborated; and she now understood why there was such a menacing undertone in his voice when he brought it up.

The asylum was horrible. The doctors weren't too bad; most of them just seemed misguided. The other patients hadn't done anything to her (yet), so she had no grudges to hold. But the asylum itself seemed to want to swallow her up in the night, like a huge beast hungry for madness. She allowed a few tears to escape as the overwhelming sense of being alone pushed down on her like an unwanted kiss. She huddled over, pulling her knees up as close as she could.

Eventually, there was a tap on the Plexiglas wall of her cell. She jumped in surprise and shrunk away, but it was only Dr. Leroux. She smiled halfheartedly as he waved at her.

"I thought you might like to have a visitor," he said. He smiled apologetically as he took in her obvious anxiety. "It's not very nice, is it?" he said, glancing around the cell.

Becky chuckled a little and shook her head. "I've been in worse, Doctor."

Leroux looked at her sympathetically, but he misinterpreted her words. "You'll be allowed into group activities in a few days," he said. "You can get out of the straightjacket then too. But any time you cause trouble, you go right back to where you are now."

Leroux inhaled slowly, leaning against the side of her cell. "What?" she said imperiously.

"I'm not sure if you knew, but Jonathan Crane is my patient as well."

Becky sat on her cot stiffly, frozen like a deer in the headlights. He could see her bony shoulders rise and fall as her breathing quickened. "It's alright," he said quickly. "I won't let him near you until you feel ready."

Becky scowled and curled up into a ball again. "Do you really think he would hurt me?" she hissed.

"Of course I do," Leroux answered, mistaking her anger for anxiety. "I can't risk your health in any way. It would be harmful to him as well, I believe, until he's ready to function in society—"

"He'd never."

"Rebecca."

Becky stood and took a few steps toward the doctor. "He wouldn't want to destroy his experiment." She glared at him, trying to hide behind her anger.

Leroux looked at her, flabbergasted. "Now, Becky, there's no need—"

"Have it your way," she snarled. "But if I end up getting mauled by Killer Croc because you didn't put us in the same room, you'll have to live with it for the rest of your life."

He opened his mouth to reply, but quickly left instead. Becky went back to her cot and pulled her knees to her chest, burying her eyes in them. She knew what she'd told the doctor was true, at least to a certain extent. Jonathan wouldn't want to hurt her. She was his masterpiece, his proven hypothesis, his successful trial. She was _h__is_. And he adored her.

Eventually she drifted off to sleep, curled into a fetal position under the thin blankets on her cot. Dr. Leroux returned one last time before he left work, but he was glad she was already asleep. He watched her for a few moments, his brow slightly furrowed. He tapped his fingers softly the cold Plexiglas and thought, _Pleasant nightmares, Rebecca._

* * *

"Soooo, Joonn…"

"What do you want?"

"I just came over to say hi! That's what friends do, remember? In case you forgot after all your time in solitary."

"There are no 'friends'. There are only people you become attached to because you're afraid of being alone."

Edward scowled at Jonathan, but sat down next to him and began helping himself to scrambled eggs. It was only Jonathan's second day out of solitary confinement, and Edward was almost too excited to sit still. Jonathan edged away from him as he crammed food into his mouth, toying with his own breakfast.

"Well, what about Becky?" Edward said sincerely through a mouthful of hashbrowns.

Jonathan stabbed his plastic spork into a piece of toast. "There's humanity in general," he said, pulling off most of the bread and placing it in front of the redhead. "And then there are people I can tolerate. Like you." He pulled off a significantly smaller portion of his toast and put it next to the first one. "And then there's… her." He picked up a crumb, twisted it between his fingers for a moment, then crushed it and flicked it at Edward's eye. Edward flinched, smirking. He was about to say something when Beth sat down next to him. She snatched the discarded toast and put it on her tray.

"Any further developments, Professor?" she asked, pulling the top off a juice box.

"_No_," Jonathan said. "I don't understand why you two are so obsessed with… us."

Beth shrugged, sticking toast in her mouth like Edward. "We need a little drama. And since they cancelled the soap operas…"

Jonathan sighed in exasperation and left the table. He went off to a lone chair in the corner of the cafeteria to finish his breakfast in peace. Unfortunately, he was interrupted by Dr. Leroux.

"What do you want?" he said contemptuously.

"I was talking with Miss Albright," the doctor began. Jonathan's hand clenched around his spork , snapping it in half. Leroux pretended not to notice. "She should be out of solitary by tomorrow afternoon."

"Why are you telling me this?" Jonathan said, his lip curling with suspicion. Leroux stared at him.

"Are you saying you'd rather not meet with her?"

"I—" Jonathan started angrily, but then he paused. "No, that's not…" he said, blushing a little and staring at the ground in frustration.

"Alright," Dr. Leroux replied cheerfully. "Then I guess you'll see each other when you see each other."


	4. Boy Troubles

A/N: Alright, I thought I should let you know that Bethany Zayne is an OC by Shellyluvstoread for the Riddler. She's a former security guard at Arkham and overall kind of badass.

* * *

_Boy Troubles _

Beth hummed a cheery waltz to herself as she was escorted to art therapy. Today was a special day; Becky would finally be allowed into group activities, and she was thrilled to see her friend again after so long.

When she arrived, she glanced around the art room. Jervis Tetch was sitting in a corner, no doubt doodling something questionable, and Pamela Isley was lying on the floor painting with watercolors; but aside from them and Dr. Stephens, the room was empty. Beth sighed resignedly and sat down at the table, pulling a few sheets of paper and a box of felt-tip markers towards her. She had just finished drawing a stick-figure Riddler and was adding the details of his suit when Becky arrived.

"Becky!" she cried happily, jumping out of her chair and throwing her arms around the skinny girl. Becky flinched and stood stiffly as Beth coddled her. "Oh my God, it's been so long, how have you been? Eddie and I missed you so much! Holy smokes…"

Becky giggled uneasily as all eyes turned towards her, and pushed gently on Beth's stomach. "It's good to see you too. But if you could… um…"

"Oh! Yeah, no problem! Here, come sit by me and we can talk—" Beth grabbed Becky's arm and towed her over to the table, pushing her gently down into a chair. She offered the markers to the redhead, who took them sheepishly and began doodling absently.

"So?" the blonde whispered when everyone had returned to their projects. "What's the deal with you and the Professor?"

Becky's hand shook while she held the marker. "They won't let me see hm."

Beth put an arm around her and gave her a sympathetic squeeze. "It'll work out," she murmured gently. "How did you end up in here, anyway?"

Becky glanced around anxiously, and then hunched over her paper. "I was… having some boy problems," she said.

Beth's eyes glittered with curiosity. "What kind of boy problems?" she whispered expectantly.

Becky's grip on the marker became so tight that Beth thought she was going to snap it in half and spatter ink everywhere. "The kind that requires bludgeoning with a blunt object," she whispered, with the tiniest of smiles on her mouth. Beth snickered and took Becky's hand for a moment, giving it a small squeeze.

"I'm sure the good doctor would approve of your methods," she said, half-serious. Becky's smile widened and she went back to her coloring.

Beth glanced over at Ivy contemptuously, who had been staring at them he whole time. She rolled her eyes and went back to her watercolors. Jervis was blissfully unaware of everything around him. But Dr. Stephens had heard every word, and she watched the two girls with a slight frown on her face. She adjusted her glasses and clapped her hands for attention.

"Alright, today's session has ended," she said. "You can go back to the rec room or your cells—Bolton, you take them to the rec room and Berg, you take them to their cells—" Everyone opted to go back to their rooms, so the two security guards led the four patients out the door. Dr. Stephens grabbed Becky's arm on her way out.

"Miss Albright, I'd like you to come with me," she said gently. Becky said nothing, but allowed herself to be led out into the staff room. Beth gave her a sad little wave and she nodded in return. Dr. Stephens went into the staff room, leaving Becky alone with an orderly.

"What's your name?" the orderly asked pleasantly.

"Becky."

He glanced up and down her body, taking in the way her toes pointed in, how she hunched, how she crossed her arms and held her elbows like a shield. "You're new," he said sympathetically. "Don't worry. It gets a lot better once you get to know some people."

"Wouldn't surprise me, if they would give me the chance to do so," she said blandly.

He began to respond, but Dr. Stephens opened the door and returned from the staff room. She nodded to the orderly and led Becky down a few hallways until they reached the door to her doctor's office. She opened the door and nudged Becky inside, then left without a word.

Dr. Leroux looked up from his desk. "Oh. There you are. Please, sit."

Becky sat, perching on the edge of the chair like a nervous bird. What was going on? Leroux pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, remaining silent for a long time. After a few minutes Becky cleared her throat. "Am I in trouble?" she asked tentatively.

Leroux smiled. "No, you're not in trouble. Dr. Stephens overheard you and…" He glanced over to a notebook with a few lines written in it. "Miss Zayne talking during your therapy session and thought you might want to unload."

"Unload," Becky repeated.

"Yes."

She stared at him angrily, crossing her arms and leaning back in the chair. His smile faltered.

"Look, Rebecca, we all have your best interests at heart… But I need you to tell me what's going on in your head."

She continued to glare at him. He sighed again. "I'm going to tell you what my understanding is of the relationship between you and Dr. Crane. Please, correct me if I say anything wrong."

He glanced at the computer screen, which faced him and not Becky. She shifted uncomfortably as he began to read.

"Jonathan Crane is a narcissistic sadist obsessed with fear and anxiety. He suffers from severe insomnia and is classified as sociopathic. He has been institutionalized numerous times due to his somewhat compulsive need to test his theories. He cares about nothing but his research, and often harms other human beings in his attempts to perform experiments.

"Rebecca Albright is classified as a victim of Stockholm Syndrome, diagnosed after her kidnapping and subsequent six-month hostage period under the influence of Jonathan Crane. She has developed an unhealthy obsession both with him and his theories on fear and anxiety, driving her to criminal activity including assault and murder."

Leroux looked at Becky, who stared back icily. "Would you say that is an accurate description?" he asked softly.

"No."

"Would you like to tell me in your own words?"

"… No."

The doctor stood from his desk and knelt beside her. She shrunk into the corner of the chair, as far away from him as she could.

"Why not?"

She shook her head frantically.

"Becky, I only have your best interests at heart."

She drew away from him so far that she was almost climbing over the side of the chair. "I want to go back to my cell," she said quietly, looking at him uneasily. He stood and dialed a few digits into the phone.

"I'll call security and have them take you," he said, not meeting her eyes. She continued to stare at him from the corner of the chair. Her eyes never left him until the orderlies shut the door behind them and took her away.

Leroux sat down heavily in his chair with a sigh. He was beginning to think that the only way to move forward with therapy was to let them see each other.


	5. Privacy Policy

A/N: I'm sorry if the introduction of Beth left you a little confused, I hadn't really thought about it when I published this. I'd advise you all to go out and read her story now, actually, like right now- well, maybe after you read and review this chapter [winknudge]- it's called Alls Fair in Love and Riddles. And I find it quite adorable. For those of you who don't fall for my shameless promotions, Becky and Jonathan show up a couple times and the girls end up becoming good friends. I chose to include Beth because Becky needed a gal-pal, and Ivy was off-limits (for reasons that should become evident eventually), as was Harley (she's much too bubbly). Catwoman is just... no. NO. SO WRONG. So, thank you for actually caring enough to point that little blip out to me. (Do you perchance care enough to review all of these chapters I'm dumping on here? 'Cause that would just be awesome.) Also, I wanted to bring in more characters this time. If they came up before in MTYF, they should show up again here. Much love!

* * *

_Privacy Policy_

"Hey, Docta Crane!"

"What, Harleen?"

"I just met the new girl." Jonathan looked up at the yellow pigtails beside him, taking in Harley's mischievous smile and her bright blue eyes. "Ya know she's on her way to therapy right now, at this very instant?"

"Fascinating." He went back to his puzzle, but she let out a frustrated sigh and poked his arm.

"This is the part where you're supposed to valiantly rush to her side," she said. Jonathan raised his eyebrows condescendingly.

"No," he said firmly.

Harley stuck out her lip. "Fine," she said. "Don't come crying to me when she decides to date some other guy with a little more _romance _than you—"

Jonathan was up so fast that he knocked over the chair. He grabbed Harley's wrist and squeezed tightly, staring down into her frightened blue eyes. She gasped and said "I didn't mean it!" quickly, like it was a lie she had over-rehearsed. Jonathan sneered and let go of her arm. She scurried back to the couch and let Poison Ivy comfort her.

"Crane," called one of the guards. "It's time for your session with Dr. Leroux."

Jonathan let himself be escorted to Leroux's office, scowling ominously the whole way.

* * *

"Why am I here?"

"We thought you might be more comfortable talking to me."

Becky stared at Dr. Cassidy. Her desk, unlike Dr. Leroux's, was neat and tidy; beside her computer there were several pictures of her family, and on the other end of the desk sat a mug with a picture of a ladybug painted on it. Cassidy leafed through her new patient's files, pausing after about four pages. "Would you like to talk about Mr. Bromley?" she asked gently.

"No," Becky said immediately.

"Look, Becky, I know that it might be painful for you, but you need to tell me your version of things so we can help you."

"I don't need help."

Dr. Cassidy glanced up at her apologetically. "Please, Becky," she said. "Just start talking about it. We can stop whenever you want."

There was a long pause. "He was a dumb animal," she said finally.

"What makes you say that?"

Becky frowned slightly, staring at her knees. She was silent for a long time. Dr. Cassidy watched her patiently.

"I remember the first time I talked to him," she said finally. "I was on my way home from my English class, and he was just standing there, all full of himself. He asked me out and I thought… I thought he was joking, so I got mad at him. But he kept badgering me to go on a date with him, so I finally said yes."

She could hear Dr. Cassidy's pen scratching away frantically. "He took me to one of those late-night horror movie things they do at the theater on Elm Street, like all the boys do with their girlfriends. He was so nice to me…"

"Then what happened, Becky?" the doctor asked without meeting her eyes.

"Then he took me home. He drove me to my apartment and walked me to the door. He said… he said he wanted a good-night kiss…" Her voice trailed off as she stared down, her eyes wide. Memories spiraled out of her control and tears welled in her eyes as she recalled the way his kiss had become so demanding, the way he'd shoved her against the wall, the way he'd become so much uglier up close. Her hands shook and she twisted them in the hem of her shirt, pressing her knees together.

"And I remember thinking… The whole time, I remember thinking, Jonathan would never do this. Jonathan wouldn't—he wouldn't—" She broke off, choking on tears as the remembered the horrible feeling of Bromley's big hands on her stomach. "And then he stood up to take his belt off and—the frying pan was just sitting there on the counter. I had t—_he_ had to learn. He had to learn how it felt to be me. He had to learn how it felt to be _so scared_… So… I taught him."

She shut her eyes tightly, struggling to keep her breath from hitching out of control. She wiped her stinging tears away, and when she looked up, Dr. Cassidy had managed to hide most of her horror.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably and said, "You said that you felt that Dr. Crane wouldn't—he wouldn't treat you as badly as Mr. Bromley did. What makes you think that, Becky?"

Becky smiled slightly. "If you put months of effort into a science project, you wouldn't want to destroy it, would you?" she said dryly.

* * *

"Jonathan, could you tell me what you feel your relationship is with Rebecca Albright?"

"Why does it matter?"

Dr. Leroux repressed a sigh. "Because," he said delicately. "If you could demonstrate to us that you have no wish to harm her, we might be able to let you see her sooner."

Jonathan leaned back in his chair and smiled darkly. "I wouldn't go so far to say that, Doctor," he said amusedly. "My experiments can often get _very _nasty."

"Do you have romantic feelings towards her?"

"I never said that."

Leroux frowned. "Jonathan, if you keep me running in circles, there's nothing I can do to help you," he said. His patient scowled back sourly. "Do you consider yourself to be friends with Miss Albright?"

"You could put it that way. She's more of a prized possession, really."

"That would suggest you see her as an inanimate being."

"Oh, no. Far from it, actually. She's a very bright girl. She's just _my_ very bright girl." Jonathan smiled like a cat with a particularly large spider.

Leroux cleared his throat and pretended to examine his notes. He blushed slightly and asked, "Have you been intimate with her?" without looking at his patient.

Jonathan's smile vanished. "I can't tell you that," he snapped.

"And why not?"

"Doctor-patient privacy."


	6. I Like To Watch

_I Like To Watch_

Two months. It had been two months since Dr. Leroux had been hired at Arkham Asylum, and already he felt like a veteran. He knew the procedures for sedating and restraining patients by heart, he knew which guards and orderlies were nice, and who on the staff made good coffee. He sat in his office, wearily listening to an audio recording of Dr. Cassidy's interview with Rebecca Albright. She didn't seem to have much confidence; he thought that might be a doorway into letting her heal. At least, he hoped it was.

He looked up when the door opened, pressing a button and stopping the tape. His patient loomed in the doorway, pale and skinny, but somehow he was menacing enough to make a shudder run down his spine. Leroux nodded and his patient sat down in the chair.

"Jonathan, I'm sorry to drag this on, but I still think we should talk about Rebecca." He rummaged in a drawer for his pen and notepad.

"Why do you call her that, Doctor?"

"That's what she said I should call her. Now, I have something I think you'll find… interesting…"

Dr. Leroux pulled a large, fat envelope out from his desk. He tapped it in his palm hesitantly a few times, and then he opened the envelope. It wasn't sealed. He gingerly took out a stack of Polaroid photographs, and saw Crane stiffen out of the corner of his eye as he did so. "I take it you remember these?" he said.

"You have no right—" Jonathan snarled. He stood and attempted to snatch the pictures away, but the doctor pulled them out of reach.

"Neither did you, Jonathan," he said gently.

"What do you know about it?" His patient snapped. He remained standing his hands on the desk, breathing heavily as anger flashed in his green eyes like storm clouds rolling in. After a few moments he slumped back into the chair.

"I don't know half as much as I'd like to," Leroux said. "These pictures demonstrate uncharacteristic voyeurism. You've never done this with any of your other… subjects. So why her? What made her so special?"

For the first time, he saw an emotion other than anger or malice on his patient's face. He looked at the photographs with a kind of plaintive longing. "Let me see, and maybe I could tell you," he replied.

Leroux glanced down at the pictures, and then remembered why he had avoided looking at them until now. They were disturbing, and they made his stomach clench uncomfortably, and they put very unprofessional thoughts in his head. Reluctantly, more to get them out of his hands than anything, he pushed them to the edge of the desk and allowed his patient to take them. Crane's bony hands quickly gathered them up, like spiders wrapping up a fly for later. He flipped through them with a wolfish look in his eyes.

Leroux cleared his throat. "Why?" he asked.

"Look at her," Jonathan said softly. He didn't seem to be paying attention to his doctor anymore. He stared down at the picture in his hand, his thumb stroking the side of it like a cherished pet. Like all the others, it was a picture of Becky—but this was one of the more disturbing ones. It was obvious to all who saw them that they were photographs of her under the influence of his fear toxins; but some of them were worse to look at than others. Leroux didn't want to know which one his patient was looking at.

"I have," Dr. Leroux said distastefully.

"She was so insecure about her looks…"

"So you forced her to experience that particular fear."

Jonathan looked up at his doctor, a sickening grin on his face. "You need _confidence_ in a relationship. And kids today are so lacking in self-esteem."

"Jonathan, I can't see how those actions are part of a healthy relationship. You practically raped her."

His patient's hands tightened on the pictures and he stiffened, his smile vanishing. "No," he hissed. "Only a dumb animal could have done that to her."

Leroux shuddered as he recalled listening to Becky's interview with Dr. Cassidy.

"And I heard Bromley paid for it, too," Crane said maliciously.

"I doubt many would agree that he deserved his fate."

"Then he shouldn't have volunteered."

Dr. Leroux bristled. "What do you mean, _volunteered? _No one volunteers for that sort of-!"

Crane stared at him. "They all volunteer," he said menacingly. "Every single one. Every time they spit, every time they laugh, every time they hurt. That's how they volunteer for my experiments. Can you blame me for giving them the opportunity that they so _desperately_ apear to want, to be a part of psychological research?"

Leroux simply looked at his patient, at a loss for words. "I think I'll keep these, Doctor," he continued casually, examining more of the Polaroids. "You know, as a reward for my good behavior. Since you won't let me have the real one."

The doctor shuddered and called the orderlies, unable to protest. "Our time is up," he said. He put his face in his hands and refused to look at anything until his patient had left.

* * *

"Rebecca, I need to ask you about something. You might think it's a strange question, but it's very important to your and Dr. Crane's therapy."

"What?" Becky crossed her arms and bit her lip.

Leroux looked down at his file, his brow slightly furrowed. "You said in our first session that you felt that you were ugly, and that's why other children picked on you?"

"… Yes."

"There were some… pictures… of Dr. Crane's that would suggest a deep emotional attachment to you. I believe you know what I'm referring to?"

She blushed slightly. "Yes," she mumbled.

"Does he make you feel like a better person? Do you feel more confident, more pretty when you are with him?"

Becky stared at the ground uncomfortably. "Yes, I do," she said quietly.

"Would you say that he is aware of that?"

"Yes."

"Alright, Becky, that's it for now. You can go back to your cell."

* * *

It was past eleven PM, according to the clock on Dr. Leroux's office wall. He hadn't been in his office for twenty minutes. He had been sneaking, yes, sneaking, through the asylum, hoping that no one would ask him where he was going or why he was still there. He reached his destination and halted, staring into the abyss, his heart beating fast despite his leisurely pace.

He glanced around the cell block. The nearest guard was to his left, at the end of the corridor, and by the look of it he was asleep. Good.

Leroux stepped forward slowly, trying not to breathe too loudly in case he woke someone. He reached the Plexiglas wall and pressed close to it, his nose almost touching the glass. It was dark inside the cell, like the holes left when a rabid dog bites you. He reached out and touched the wall, stroking his fingers along the cool, clear barrier between him and obsession.

"Oh, but you are beautiful, Rebecca," he whispered, his breath fogging the Plexiglas. His fingers made little claws on the glass as he watched her flat chest rising and falling. "And you don't need _him_ to show you that."


	7. Slings and Arrows

_Slings and Arrows  
_

_Dr. Crane! Dr. Crane, stop and think about what you're doing!_

_TheRe iSss nO CrannEe! ThEree isSs oNlY SSscaRrecRowW!_

"Out of my way—Out of my way!"

"Ma'am, he's not supposed to see anybody—"

"I'm a doctor! Let me see him!"

"Okay, fine, keep your head on, lady—"

Jonathan's eyes opened slowly as he heard a door slam, making his ears ring and his head throb. Although, now that he thought about it, his whole body was throbbing.

"Jonathan."

_Jonny! Oh my God, Jonny, are you okay?_

"Jonathan? Dr. Crane?" He winced as he felt someone's warm hands on his shoulder. He attempted to sit up, but couldn't, and realized that he was once more in a straightjacket. He let out a moan of anger and pain.

"Jonathan, it's Dr. Cassidy. I'm going to help you sit up, and then I'm going to remove the straightjacket and patch you up. Okay?"

"Hunky dory," he managed through gritted teeth. He saw Dr. Cassidy repress a smile. At least he was in the care of someone who was used to him. She pulled him up into a sitting position, and he failed to keep down a painful cry. She immediately drew her hands back.

"Damn it, Jonathan, I'm sorry…"

He managed not to open his mouth any other times, even when his chest felt like it had caught on fire as he lifted his arms for her to remove his shirt. She opened a first-aid kit and began cleaning his wounds.

"How the Hell did this happen..?" she murmured angrily. He glanced down at his chest, and then immediately shut his eyes. He was covered in nasty bruises the color of rotting fruit, as well as several swollen cuts which oozed blood. He didn't think there were any broken bones, but he was definitely not going to be up and about anytime soon.

Although, he had to remind himself with a dry snicker, that was what had got him here in the first place. Cassidy glanced up in concern when she heard his icy chuckle, and then resumed disinfecting his cuts.

"You don't give the guards steel-toed boots, do you?" he asked eventually, trying to take his mind off the pain.

Cassidy smiled mirthlessly. "They come free with the pepper spray," she joked. "I have to congratulate you, though. I think you broke the Joker's record for attempted escapes."

"Ha ha he hoo ha," he muttered, enunciating each word.

"Any particular reason this time?" Dr. Cassidy stood and went to get bandages from the first-aid kit. Jonathan took the chance to glance around at his surroundings. Apparently, he had been put in solitary confinement.

"Take a guess," he said bitterly, pinching a cut to see how deep it went. Cassidy's fingers fumbled with the bandages in her hand.

"You know, you'll never see her if you keep acting out like this," she said, failing to keep her tone stern. She applied a Band-Aid to his stomach, frowning slightly.

A minute passed by in silence, and she finished applying his bandages. She picked up his shirt, looked at the bloodstains, and wrinkled her nose. "I'll get you some new clothes." She opened the door to speak to an orderly, and then closed it and washed her hands in the sink.

"… Dr. Cassidy?" Jonathan said quietly.

"Mhmm?"

"Thank you."

Cassidy slowly and deliberately dried her hands with a paper towel. She turned and looked at him sadly. "I'm sorry you have to go through this," she murmured. She went over to him and knelt in front of him, looking up into his green eyes. She was glad that she could be on good terms with him. She slowly reached out to take his hand, and he stiffened slightly, but did not pull it away.

"Just tell me this, Jonathan. There are no recorders. No one will know except for you and me."

He raised an eyebrow. She continued softly, "I know you. You can… tell when you're having an episode. You have the lucidity to identify your own actions impartially."

"What are you getting at?"

"I just… I need to know."

"About B… her."

"Yes. About her."

Jonathan stared down at the doctor, unwilling to let his guard down, but at the same time longing to share his secrets. He sucked in his gaunt cheeks.

"If I sent her in here, right now, would you want to hurt her?"

"No." The word crawled reluctantly out from his mouth, and he stared into Cassidy's eyes, pleading for her to understand. "I wouldn't."

"You wouldn't," she echoed gently. She stood and released his hand. She was about to leave, with her hand on the door, when he stopped her.

"Sarah."

"Yes?"

"… You're not going to let her anywhere near me, are you?"

She didn't look at him, but he knew she felt bad. "It's not my decision," she said sadly, and left the cell.

Jonathan leaned back in his cot, staring at the ceiling. He smiled slightly, relishing in the pain, weaving it into a web to catch his prey. She was right; it wasn't her decision. It was his.

* * *

"What weighs six ounces, sits in a tree, and is dangerous?"

"A sparrow with a machine gun. You asked me that a week ago, hon."

"If you have me, you'll want to share me; but if you share me, you will lose me. What am I?"

"A secret."

Edward's brow furrowed as he tried to come up with a new riddle. Beth yawned theatrically, purposefully hitting him in the face as she stretched. He swatted her hand away and looked over the back of the couch for inspiration, grinning as he saw Becky entering the rec room. "What's small and pale and screams when it's in love?"

"You, whenever I—"

Edward shoved her over, clearing his throat loudly and nodding over to the doorway. Beth followed his gaze and her face lit up. "Becky!" she called, waving.

The redhead hurried over to them and sat on the edge of the couch. "Hi, Eddie," she said with a weary smile.

Edward frowned concernedly when he saw her up close. Her hair was tangled, she was skinnier than he remembered, and she had dark circles under her wide brown eyes. Her smile looked a bit forced and her hands trembled.

"Becky, what's wrong?" he asked, putting a tentative arm around her.

She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, like she was afraid of losing her extremities if she put them too far out. She shook her head, her eyes flickering between Beth and Edward.

The blonde put a hand on his knee and leaned over him to stare into Becky's eyes. "You… you heard about..?" she murmured.

Becky's brow knit and she nodded. Edward allowed Beth to climb over him and wrap her arms around the redhead. "At least he won't be causing trouble any time soon," he said halfheartedly. Beth glared at him. _I was just trying to help,_ he mouthed, holding his hands up apologetically.

"Well, look at that. New girl made some friends."

All three of them looked up at the cold, languid voice that had interrupted them. Poison Ivy leaned over the backside of the couch, her white eyes lazy and her tone sinisterly disinterested. Beth stiffened. "What do you want?" she demanded.

Ivy stood and walked around the couch, trailing her fingers along the worn fabric behind her. "I just wanted to meet her. See what all the fuss is about. Jonathan's been very… _out of sorts_ since she arrived."

Ivy leaned down and examined Becky's face. The redhead drew back into Edward's chest in fright. Ivy smiled slightly, her brackish lips curling up more on one side. "I don't bite," she said softly. She stared at Becky for a few moments longer, then straightened up and nodded satisfactorily, twirling a lock of her crimson hair absently. "Yes, I can see why he likes you. Poor little thing like you, all freckles and bones…" She smiled unpleasantly to herself. "You just look so easily frightened."

Edward pushed Becky off him gently. "Pam, if you're going to creep somebody out, go talk to Jervis. I'm sure he'd love to get into a competition."

Her expression turned sour, her white eyes narrowing. "You know I don't like that word, _Ed-die,"_ she said, drawing out his name. Beth glared at her. She sighed and continued in an unconcerned monotone. "I was planning a little surprise party for the doctors, and I thought you'd like to be in on it."

Edward grinned eagerly despite himself. "When and where?"

"I was thinking in a week or so. I'll get back to you once it's all worked out," she said, walking away and looking over her shoulder at him.

"Wait! Ivy, what about…" Edward glanced at Becky. "What about Jonathan?" he asked quietly.

Ivy smirked. "I'll take care of it," she said. "Oh, and Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

"You should watch your step. I think Bethany's going to strangle you if you ever smile at me again."


	8. Checkmate

_Checkmate  
_

"Hey, um, Docta Crane?"

Jonathan didn't look up from his chess game with the Mad Hatter. "Your move, Jervis," he said blandly.

"Docta Crane," said the girl again. She was insistent but apologetic. Jonathan glanced at the Hatter. His brow was furrowed, and his short fingers tapped his large nose thoughtfully. He sighed and turned to the blonde girl at his arm.

"What do you want?" he asked, his lip curling.

He watched her bite her lip and pull a lock of yellow hair in front of her mouth. Her blue eyes were round, framed by dimples and smeared black mascara. "I, uh, me and Red wanted to talk to ya."

He regarded her with disdain, but another glance at Tetch told him the chess game would be going on for a while. Jonathan stood resignedly and followed Harley to the couch in the rec room, where she plopped down next to a corpse-like figure.

"I got him, Red," she chirped. Ivy raised an eyebrow at Jonathan, who stood awkwardly in front of them.

"Sit," she said curtly, motioning to the empty space next to Harley. Jonathan grimaced inwardly and perched like a bird on the edge of the cushions.

"Harley and I have a little plan that calls for your expertise," the redhead murmured. Her words had no inflection and her gaze never wavered from the television in front of her, but Jonathan could tell she was focused from the way her fingers tapped determinedly against the arm of the sofa. Her voice reminded him of cigar smoke and her hair seemed to flow on its own, like it was caught in an underwater current. She was undoubtedly an intriguing woman.

"What do you want, Pamela?"

Her fingers clenched. "Don't call me that," she said harshly. Then she relaxed, her voice becoming a languid purr once more. "I'd like you to take care of Lyle."

Jonathan glanced behind them to Lyle Bolton, who was lounging against the wall reading an old edition of _Gotham Today_. He could just make out the pages of something much less respectable peeking over the top. He sneered.

"And why should I help you two ladies?" His words dripped with such sarcasm that the temperature seemed to drop momentarily.

"Don'cha wanna get outta here, Doc?" Harley whispered desperately. He vaguely remembered having her in a class back when he was a teacher; the thought made him feel old.

"I don't know, Harleen, it's pretty comfortable. Free food and a bed, meet-and-greets with others who share my hatred of the Batman—oh, and the cemetery is positively _lovely _this time of year." His voice still carried its icy sting, and he stood to leave the conversation but caught sight of the _GT_ Lyle had left on an end table. Not wanting to deal with Jervis's rants, he snatched it up and leafed through the pages until he found a lengthy article, pretending to read.

"But what about-?" Harley began. Jonathan ignored her.

An orderly walked up to them on the couch, adjusting the television. He changed the channel from a rerun of "I Love Lucy" to a news station. Harley protested loudly.

The orderly glared down at her. "You got a problem with it, blondie?" he snarled.

"Yeah, I do," she said angrily.

The orderly raised his eyebrows and bent closer to them. "Anything to say about it, hot stuff?" He glanced at Ivy. She remained silent, glaring at the wall in front of her. "No? What about you, Poindexter?"

Jonathan remained buried in the magazine. The orderly frowned.

"Hey, you're the Scarecrow," he said.

"Very astute," Jonathan said curtly.

The orderly grinned. "You're the guy who's making all the fuss about the new girl. What was her name? Beth? Bianca? Oh, yeah. Becky."

Jonathan looked up for the first time, scowling menacingly. "So?" he sneered.

"So," said the orderly. "I figure you wouldn't want anything to happen to such a cute little thing like her. She's got nice legs. And… well… _accidents_ do happen. She might never get to use those pretty little legs again, if you know what I mean," he said with a nasty smirk. Three sets of eyes, white, blue-green, and cerulean, were fixed on him.

"Just a little something to think about, little fishies," he said before leaving.

Jonathan didn't realize how furiously he was clenching his fists until the flimsy magazine page ripped under his fingers. He tore at the rest of it viciously, not saying anything but breathing heavily through his nose, shredding it and throwing the remains forcefully into a trash can.

He looked back at Harley and Ivy. Ivy, for once, looked mildly concerned, and Harley clung to her arm nervously. He walked angrily back to his chess game, pausing to mutter to Ivy, "I'll do it."

"Why, there you are, Jonathan!" Tetch exclaimed happily when the skinny man sat down. He began to recount something he had remembered about one of his Alices but quailed and fell silent under Jonathan's furious gaze. "Checkmate," he snarled, slamming his queen down on the board and storming away to his cell.


	9. Nevermore

_Nevermore  
_

_Name: Crane, Jonathan_

_WM_

_Height: 6'2"_

_Weight: 121_

_Hair: Dark brown_

_Eyes: Light green_

Dr. Leroux stared at the file, his eyes straining after looking at the miniscule print for so long. He ran his hands through his hair in concentration.

_Diagnosis: Obsessed with fear and anxiety, likely suffers from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Narcissistic sociopath. Severe insomnia and extremely antisocial personality. Homicide risk._

He sighed and took a drink of his coffee, pulling a face and spitting it out as he realized it had grown cold. He threw the Styrofoam cup angrily in the trash can beside his desk.

_Note: Obsessive mania focusing on Rebecca Albright._

What did Crane have that he didn't? The man was just a scrawny, scared little worm on the inside. He didn't care about anything but his work. Crane didn't care about Rebecca- Crane _couldn't_ care about Rebecca, not like he did. Leroux wanted to fix her, to make her better, to make her happy and whole. Crane just played his sick little mind games with her.

There was a knock on the door and he hurriedly shut the file and smoothed his hair, attempting to appear nonchalant. "Yes?" he called.

Dr. Cassidy opened the door. "I wonder if I could have a word with you?" she said.

"By all means—here, let me tidy up a bit—" Leroux stuffed the file away and pulled the chair out for her. She remained standing as she shut the door. He folded his hands and smiled at her expectantly.

"Dr. Crane was attacked," she said coldly.

"What?" Leroux knew he sounded a bit too eager, and he tried to smooth over it by frowning sternly. "By whom?" he asked.

"By the guards you left him with," Cassidy said warily. Her brow knit a little distastefully as she looked down at the chubby doctor. "They caused him to enter a psychotic episode, and then assaulted him when he tried to defend himself."

Leroux raised an eyebrow. "By 'defend himself', I take it you mean 'ran amok and scared people out of their wits'?"

Dr. Cassidy crossed her arms. "I'm taking over for you," she said forcefully. "Dr. Arkham's already agreed to it."

"_What?"_ Leroux shouted, leaping out of his chair. His mouth curled unpleasantly and his face grew red. He glared at Dr. Cassidy.

"Both of your patients have agreed to it as well, Doctor," she said softly. "You're outnumbered."

Leroux opened his mouth furiously, then froze and seemed to regain control of himself. He sat back down slowly and folded his hands again.

"As you wish, Dr. Cassidy," he said pleasantly.

She gave him one hard, suspicious look, and shut the door. He waited until her footsteps died away before wrenching open all the drawers in his desk.

"Where is it?" he muttered feverishly to himself. "Where the Hell is it, I know it was here—"

Soon he found the burlap mask he'd taken from Crane in their first interview. He smiled widely, breathing heavily through his nose. He crammed it in his coat pocket and ran to the door, slamming it behind him. He slowed to a walk as he made his way down the hall towards the cell block.

He slowed even more as he reached the rows upon rows of Plexiglas walls. He peered through the little windows into people's minds as he passed by, not really focused, but curious nonetheless. He ran the last few steps until he reached the one he wanted, until he reached _her._

She was lying on the cot, facedown, but he couldn't tell if she was asleep or not. "Rebecca?" he said softly, knocking gently on the glass, and then more forcefully when she did not stir.

" '_Tis some visitor," _Becky murmured. _"Tapping at my chamber door - /Only this, and nothing more…"_ She turned and sat up, marking her place in the heavy book she had been reading. Leroux smiled.

"I see you found the poetry section in the library," he said.

She smiled slightly. "There's not much else to do, Dr. Leroux."

He wanted to reach out to her, to pull her close and comfort her, but he settled with some friendly conversation. "Dr. Cassidy told me you're to transfer to her," he said, his fingers twitching a little as he did so. She didn't notice.

Her smile faded as she replied, "Oh… um, yeah."

"Well, whatever you think is best," Leroux said stiffly. "Anyway, I brought you a… a little farewell gift, I suppose, seeing as I might not get a chance to give it to you otherwise."

She drew her legs closer and tried to appear interested, but he could see her discomfort. Again, he felt the urge to hold her close and whisper in her ear… He shook his head to clear it. She bit her lip.

"Here," he said. He took the mask out of his pocket and stuffed it into the little tray in the wall of her cell. He pushed the tray in with more force than was necessary.

She stared at it, then at him. She got up carefully, like she was afraid he might spring a trap on her, and approached the tray. She timidly picked up the mask and held it up before her eyes.

The burlap was old, worn smooth and almost soft from years of use. It still held the faint shape of Crane's face, and the stitches seemed to smirk at Dr. Leroux mockingly as Becky stroked her thumb along the fabric.

"You can keep it," he said heavily. She looked up at him with wide eyes, unsure and somewhat frightened, and he saw her fingers tighten on the burlap, the frayed edges quaking slightly in her small hands.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"You're welcome."

They stared at one another for a while, Dr. Leroux not realizing how uncomfortable Becky was. He reached out as though to touch the glass, thought better of it, and let his arm fall. He wrinkled his nose like he had smelled something foul and said, "I'll see you around the asylum, Rebecca," before hurrying away.

Becky watched him leave, feeling her shoulders ease back down as he did so. She took a deep breath and let it out, crawling back into the cot. She looked down at the mask in her hands, clutching it tightly. She pressed it to her face and inhaled slowly, smiling. It smelled like straw and aftershave and cigarettes, and a little bit like chemicals.

It smelled like him.


	10. Photographic Memory

_Photographic Memory  
_

"Alright, everybody, time to wake up!"

Jonathan blinked blearily and sat up, causing his stiff cot to squeak and groan. He rubbed his cold fingers in his eyes to wake himself up, wishing desperately that the asylum allowed him to have coffee. No matter, he would be out soon enough.

The cell doors in Ward 1 were opened remotely, and he stood in the doorway of his cell for a moment, watching the other patients walk by on their way to breakfast. The women's cells were on the other end, so a few moments passed before he saw Harley. He quickly caught up to her and asked her what exactly their plan was.

"Well, first Mista J's gonna make a big commotion down in Solitary," she explained, glancing around them to make sure they weren't going to be overheard by anyone of importance. "Well, actually, first Ivy is gonna throw a fit and get herself locked up in Solitary. Then they'll start yellin' at each other and causin' a scene, and when the guards go in there to check on 'em, _bang!" _She threw her arms out and grinned. "Ivy knocks 'em dead with her plants. Solitary's underground, so it's the easiest spot for her to work her magic."

They reached the cafeteria, Harley grinning fondly over her friend's ingenuity. She followed Jonathan into the food line, much to his chagrin. "And that's where you come in," she said happily as they sat down, polishing an apple on her shirt. "While all the big guns are down there in Solitary, you and me are gonna be up here in the rec room. I'm gonna get Lyle to take us outside, and when we get outta sight, you bring your mojo down on him hard." She beamed at him. He grimaced and continued eating his oatmeal. He didn't bother to search for Becky; Dr. Cassidy had told him that her meals were being sent to her cell. He wondered amusedly how much effort the doctors would put into keeping them separated.

"And once that's done, we just gotta go over to the back of the asylum where Solitary is and meet Ivy and Mista J," she finished.

"That's it?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow at her dubiously, a slice of orange in his hand.

"Yup, that's it," she chirped. "We're goin' commando on this one—try and catch 'em off guard, ya know?"

"Sure," he said. He didn't want to think about Ivy, much less Harley—much less _Joker_—"goin' commando." He sipped his milk wordlessly and pretended to listen to Harley's tinny voice.

Soon, Jonathan caught sight of a familiar smirk, and waved him over to the table. Edward plopped down, Beth on his arm, as always, and poked his spork into a mound of apple sauce. "Ivy got it all cleared up?" he asked.

Harley nodded, beaming, and prattled on to Edward as Jonathan ate his breakfast in silence. After a while, Beth glanced over at him, and scooted her chair closer. "What's this, Doctor?" she murmured. "No snooty remarks? No flaws in the plan to point out?"

Jonathan toyed with a slice of bacon mournfully. Beth's eyes softened on him and she moved closer still. "She misses you," she whispered. Only Jonathan could hear her. He hunched over, his chest sunken in, like he was protecting his heart. His lip twisted down for a moment.

"You need to tell her about this," he whispered back.

"How?"

Jonathan thought for a moment, then smiled slightly and reached into the pocket of his orange jumpsuit. He went over to the bulletin board and pulled one of the felt-tip markers down, scribbling on the back of one of his photographs. He returned and folded the picture in half several times and handed it to Beth. She reached for it, but he held tightly, staring into her eyes.

"You are not going to open this," he said menacingly. "You are not going to let anyone else touch it. You are going to give this to her as soon as you see her."

Beth shuddered slightly, feeling Jonathan's clammy fingers brush hers as he released the photograph. She didn't want to know what it was. "You got it, Professor," she said.

He leaned back in his chair and smiled slightly, like he was enjoying a private joke. She scooted back over to Edward. "Isn't that right, babe?" he was saying.

"Oh, yes, Eddie. I fully agree."

Edward gave her a strange look, then glanced at Jonathan, but said nothing. The conversation resumed as if nothing had happened.

Jonathan couldn't wait for Ivy to start the break-out.


	11. Bedside Confessions

_Bedside Confessions  
_

"Good morning, Becky."

"Good morning, Dr. Cassidy."

"What would you like to talk about today?"

"I… I don't know. It doesn't really matter to me."

Dr. Cassidy cocked her head to the side, frowning slightly as if she were trying to solve a puzzle. Becky shifted self-consciously in the chair.

"I'm going to leave the tape recorder off for a moment, Becky. I'd like it if you could answer a question, more as a… personal favor to me. Is that alright with you?"

"Depends on the question."

Cassidy smiled a bit and nodded. She leaned forward with her chin on her hand, her eyes searching her patient's face. "I've known Dr. Crane for a long time," she began slowly. "I've done a lot of sessions with him and I'm fairly certain that he's comfortable talking to me. I fixed him up after the… incident a few weeks ago with the guards…" Her voice trailed off. Becky said nothing.

"In our first interview, you compared yourself to his science project. I don't believe that's quite an accurate example."

Becky's lips pursed a little. "Then what is?" she asked.

Cassidy's brows knit. "He really cares about you, Becky," she said softly. Her patient's eyes flickered up and down in confusion, like she was searching for a secret teleprompter or something.

"How would you know?" she murmured.

"He told me."

"… I don't believe you."

Dr. Cassidy reached out and took her patient's hand, holding it tightly. "Becky, you don't need to hide your feelings right now," she pleaded. "I'm not recording any of this. No one else will hear or see anything."

Becky almost looked frightened, and she bit her lip. "What did he tell you?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"He… It's just the way he reacts whenever he thinks of you," Cassidy explained. "He gets so defensive and possessive of you. He acts like… well, like someone who's in love."

Becky bit her lip harder. Cassidy continued, "I'd like to let you two see each other. I really would. But… It's not my decision."

Becky's eyes darted around the room like she was looking for an escape route, her lip now bleeding. Dr. Cassidy gasped and handed her a tissue. She dabbed at her lip with shaking hands.

"We don't have to talk any more today, if you don't want to," the doctor said gently. "You can just sit here."

Becky nodded.

* * *

Dr. Leroux paused outside the office door. He could hear voices inside. He knew it was Dr. Cassidy's office, and he also knew that Becky wasn't in her cell. He couldn't resist the urge to eavesdrop on her. With a hurried glance to make sure no one else was around, Leroux pressed his ear up against the door.

What he heard made him want to vomit.

Cassidy was practically coddling the girl; filling her head with lies about Crane. His jaw clenched as he heard the doctor drop her voice as though she were whispering sweet nothings to his former patient. They were clearly delusional, both of them. Crane was a sociopath, a sadist. He didn't have emotions. He didn't… he _couldn't_…

After a few minutes, Leroux could take no more. He rushed back to his office and began to tear up the file on Crane, oddly silent in his fury.

* * *

Beth was desperate to find Becky. There were only a few days until Ivy's escape plan was set into action, and she was still carrying Jonathan's photograph. It felt heavier every hour. Hopefully, she had concocted a plan to get to her friend that would work.

"Berg, I feel like crap," she said plaintively to the guard outside her cell.

"Doesn't surprise me," he said.

"No, I mean, I want to go to the infirmary," she whined.

Berg scowled and glanced at her, then around the corridor. "I'll take you up," he said resignedly. "But you better be good for the rest of the week." He scanned his security card to open her cell door. Then he took her arm and led her away from the cells.

"What, no cuffs? I was really looking forward to that," Beth teased distractedly, scanning the cells. She didn't see Becky anywhere. She bit her lip a little as Berg towed her farther and farther away from her cell.

When they reached the elevators, Beth plucked on his sleeve. "What?" he said, an annoyed tick in his voice.

"Can I see Dr. Cassidy?" Beth said. "Please?"

She turned on the charm. She batted her eyes and swooned, pressed close to Berg, puckered her lips like a schoolgirl. She knew it would work—if it had worked on someone as narcissistic as the Riddler, it would be foolproof on Berg. If all else failed, she could beat him up.

He stuttered a little. "O-okay. I… um, just let me… call her and see."

"Oh, you don't need to do that," she said quickly, twisting a honey-blonde lock. "I mean, I don't need to see her that badly, it's just, I thought of something and I don't want to forget it. And I'd like to stretch my legs." She smiled coyly and Berg blushed. Score one for the home team.

"Yeah, okay," he said with a resigned smile. He pressed a button and pulled her into the elevator.

"So, you and the Riddler, huh?" said Berg in an attempt to diffuse the awkward silence.

"Yeah, me and the Riddler," Beth replied, a little too harshly. "I mean-" she continued with a giggle, "Me and the Riddler. Heh heh." She rolled her eyes and smiled, trying to make her tone more inviting.

"Oh, I see," said Berg with a wink.

The elevator doors opened and they stepped into the office block of the asylum. It was much nicer than the rest of the building; the floors were carpeted and well kept, and there were actually some windows every so often. Beth smiled as she passed through a patch of sunlight.

The guard stopped her outside of Cassidy's office. "I think she's with a patient," he whispered after putting his ear to the door.

"Good," Beth whispered back, and then she lunged forward and flung the door open. She almost fell over as the wood swung away from her, frantically dashing into the office and slamming the door behind her.

Dr. Cassidy stood as soon as she saw Beth. "Miss Zayne, what are you doing?" she cried.

"Head—spinning—room—closing in—everything—going black—" Beth swooned theatrically and stumbled forward.

Becky stood from the chair, dropping her bloody tissue and grabbing her friend. "Beth, what are you-?"

The blonde flailed around like a fish out of water. "Psychotic episode—homicidal—urges!" she cried. She suddenly went limp and Becky dropped her.

"Is this some weird riddle thing?" the redhead asked, frowning down at her. Beth repressed a laugh and clawed up at her, snatching Becky's hand with both of her own in a death-grip.

"Tell Eddie—I love him-!" she cried, and then gasped and fell limply to the ground.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Dr. Cassidy muttered, opening the door. "Berg? Get her back to her cell. Don't let her in group activities tomorrow."

There was a gruff "Yes, ma'am" outside Cassidy's office and Beth bolted upright.

"Feeling better?" the doctor asked dryly.

"Mm, yes, quite," she replied, smiling. "Could you tell me how exactly I got here, Dr. Cassidy? I seem to have been possessed by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Again."

Dr. Cassidy rolled her eyes. "Good-bye, Miss Zayne," she said firmly, closing the door behind her and Berg. "Well, that was exciting, wasn't it, Becky?"

There was no response. Cassidy looked up at her patient wearily. "Becky?" she repeated.

Becky looked up, blinking like she had dozed off accidentally. "Wha—? Oh. Yes, very exciting," she said vaguely. "I think… Can I go back to my cell now?"

Dr. Cassidy nodded absently. "Yes, I suppose that's probably best…" She called an orderly and had Becky escorted back to her cell.

Halfway down the cell block corridor, Becky glanced to her right. Beth was sitting on her cot, her eyes boring into the redhead. Becky clenched her hand tightly and nodded slightly to her. She smiled. Her mission was complete.

Once in her cell, Becky crawled onto her bed with her back to the wall, pretending to read her Poe anthology. Instead, she looked at the crumpled Polaroid in her hand. She carefully unfolded it, blushing slightly when she saw what it was. She remembered his experiments in precise detail—she remembered how it felt when the tiny metal fist punched into her skin, how terrifying everything became, how it felt as though her heart would explode from the horror…

But also from the love. She remembered all the fear, it was true, but she also remembered the other things. She remembered the way he would kiss the little bumps the needle left, how he would hold her so tightly she thought he would tear her in half, how it felt to be lying next to him on the bed, halfway conscious, shaking and vulnerable, hearing the snap and whirr of his Polaroid camera. How he would gently wipe away every tear he caused with his cold, bony fingers.

She held the picture tightly in her hand, not caring how much she wrinkled it. She pretended to read her book, but her mind was still overflowing with memories of Jonathan's experiments. She wanted to shudder and cry and smile all at once.

"Rebecca?"

Becky started and gasped as a voice cut through her reverie, looking out of her cell with frantic eyes. Dr. Leroux looked back at her in concern. "You should be asleep. It's past ten."

"Then you should be home," she retorted.

Leroux stiffened. "I had… work to do," he said. "Good night, Rebecca." He turned slowly and left her.

She grimaced and smoothed out the photograph, and realized there was something on the back. She turned it over and read, in familiar cramped writing, _Meet me on the roof. You'll know when._ She felt a flutter in her chest and smiled, smoothing the picture lovingly once more and hiding it between the pages of "The Black Cat." She pulled Jonathan's mask from under her pillow and clutched it to her chest, breathing in his smell until she fell asleep.


	12. They Said That Hell's Not Hot

_They Said That Hell's Not Hot_

Jonathan sat alone at a table a few days later, slowly passing the time by assembling a puzzle. The puzzle wasn't really hard; it was only supposed to be seventy pieces (some were missing) and he'd done it before a few times. The picture was from an old children's movie, and the bright colors and singing birds made him cringe.

"Having fun?"

He looked up and found Poison Ivy had taken the chair across from him. She lounged in it like a throne, her scarlet hair tumbling carelessly down her shoulders and the shadows under her eyes set off by the stark walls surrounding them. He pursed his lips and went back to the puzzle, saying, "No. Why, do you want it?"

"Mmm, no," she sighed luxuriously. "I just thought I'd tell you that our little party's starting tonight." He looked up again, this time giving her all his attention. She smiled lazily and walked over to where Jervis Tetch was sitting alone on the ground, reading his battered copy of _Alice in Wonderland._ She crept up behind him and read over his shoulder. "Oh, I see you're at the part with the flowers," she said, causing him to jump slightly. "That was always my favorite."

"Oh, um, yes," said Jervis. Ivy sat down next to him, placing herself unnecessarily close. He closed the book.

"What's your favorite part, Jervis?" Ivy smiled at him. Her brackish lips curved up, but her white eyes were as cold as ever.

"Um, I, ah, I don't have one," he stammered. "I—that is—" He gazed tenderly at the small blonde girl on the book's cover, stroking her blue skirt with his forefinger. He blushed slightly. "I like it all."

Ivy eyed the tea party on the cover. "Well, who's your favorite character?"

"Oh, Alice, always Alice," he answered immediately.

Ivy leaned against the wall behind them, suddenly increasing the distance between her and Jervis. She closed her eyes casually and said, "I never really liked Alice, she's so annoying. Now, the Queen of Hearts, I've always had a thing for her—"

The rest of her words were silenced by a blow from Jervis' book to her face. She gasped in pain and he stood, his normally sallow face livid with rage, his chest heaving. "You take that back at once!" he shrieked angrily.

Ivy glared at him, kicking him hard in the stomach, dangerously close to much more sensitive areas. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to hit a girl?" she shouted back. "I don't see why you like Alice so much, she's a little bossy twerp that thinks she knows everything. Actually," she lowered her voice maliciously so that only Jervis could hear, "I bet you like her because you can't handle a real girl—much less a grown woman!"

He shrieked in fury and slapped her once more with the book. Fat droplets of tainted blood fell on the tiled floor and stained the paperback in his hands.

"Hey! HEY! What the HELL is going on?"

Lyle Bolton ran to grab Jervis, followed swiftly by another guard who put a firm hand on Ivy's arm and two orderlies that succeeded in fitting him in a straightjacket. The guard and an orderly pushed him roughly down a hall, screaming all the way to Solitary Confinement. The other advanced on Ivy, holding second white straightjacket.

"Oh, come on Lyle, you know I'm a lover, not a fighter," Ivy said in disgust, wiping the blood from her nose and lip. He shrugged sympathetically. "Standard procedure, Isley."

"Don't call me that," she snapped, a surly twist on her lips. But she allowed the jacket to be slipped on without a fuss, and followed the other orderly down to Solitary.

Lyle glanced around the room. "Okay, everybody, back to your stuff," he said gruffly.

Jonathan caught Harley's cerulean eyes from across the room. _Phase One complete,_ she mouthed, grinning. She turned to the guard and called, "Hey, Lyle! C'mere!"

* * *

Becky was awoken by a massive rumbling in the middle of the night. The ground shook like it was afraid and there was a deafening roar all around her, as if a great lion was going to devour the asylum and all its inhabitants. She snatched up her Poe anthology and Jonathan's mask, holding them tightly to her chest. Doctors, guards, orderlies, and patients sprinted past her cell, shouting indecipherably. She was about to flag someone down and ask what was going on when her cell door opened on its own. She glanced around the corridor, hesitating, and then sprinted towards Beth's cell.

Beth stood outside her cell, searching for Becky's familiar red curls. When she spotted them she attempted to call out, but she couldn't even hear herself. Instead she waved her arms frantically until Becky caught up to her. She flung her arms around the girl and held onto her tightly, not wanting her slight frame to be swept away and trampled by the sea of bodies before them. Becky tried to speak, but Beth simply shook her head.

They watched as the flow of people thinned, until all that remained was little Mary-Louise Dahl, sprinting as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. The roar stopped almost as abruptly as it had started, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

"What was that?" Becky shrieked as soon as she could be heard. "What the Hell was that?"

Beth grinned. "That, my friend, is the sound of freedom. And I'm guessing it corresponds with whatever treatment the good doctor has prescribed for you?"

Becky opened her mouth, but Beth silenced her with a wave of the hand. "For once, I don't want to know. Just follow the doctor's orders and you should be fine."

Becky bit her lip. The blonde smiled at her warmly. "Look, I'm going to go find Eddie. I suggest you get going before too long, or they might get you."

"They?" the redhead asked nervously.

"The doctors. The patients. It doesn't really matter. Ta ta," she called pleasantly as she hurried off.

Becky shifted the book's weight in her arms, a flutter of terror and excitement coursing through her stomach. She didn't know the way to the roof, so eventually she simply began walking.

* * *

Dr. Leroux was just packing up the last of his things before going home when the earthquake hit. He fell to the ground as it pitched beneath him, slamming his head against the corner of his desk. He cried out, cursing in pain, but his voice was dwarfed by the rumble of the earth being misplaced. He crawled desperately to the window, and looking out, realized that it wasn't an earthquake at all.

It was Poison Ivy.

Massive roots slid out of the ground like intestines from a slit belly, and he could see her tiny figure in the distance. Her crimson hair flew out behind her like fire, and she looked for all the world like an angel sent to destroy them all on Judgment Day. Leroux felt his stomach clench in fear, and ran as best he could out of the office, pushing people aside as he did so. He didn't stop to check if they were alright, or if they were patients or staff.

* * *

Ivy cackled, a witchy voice to match her witchy skin, watching the asylum's inhabitants flee before her babies like little voodoo dolls. She reached out with her arms in a kind of strange beckoning to the plants, a lone ballerina in a dance with the devil. Her white eyes glowed in the darkness and she smiled, truly meaning it for the first time in months.

This was living.

* * *

"Oh, there you are," said a voice in the broken corridor. It sounded like it had once been high-pitched, but was now smeared by cigarettes and alcohol, like static over the radio. It giggled disjointedly as the lights overhead flickered on and off.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," it continued. The lights came on for a moment, revealing the sickly green hair and the porcelain skin, and the long, bloody fingers that matched the red smile. "I thought I told you to be in the rec room? You said you'd be in the rec room."

The lights came on once more, for slightly longer this time. The Joker lounged against a pile of rubble next to a dead guard, blood pouring out from the body. "Oh, don't give me that look, darling," he said to it sternly, giggling some more. He stood and began wiping the blood off his hands in the dark, feeling the guard's body for anything that might come in handy later.

"Hellooo! Anybody home?"

He paused as the squeaky voice cut through the corridor. "No, nobody, not a soul," he called back. "Now go away. I don't want any Girl Scout cookies."

Harley's round face appeared over the top of the pile of rubble, her blonde hair disheveled and her blue eyes ablaze. "Oh, is that what we're calling it now?" she giggled as she saw him. He grinned at her.

"Look, pooh, I found some handcuffs," he said happily.

* * *

Jonathan stood on the roof of Arkham Asylum, watching the chaos unfold around him. He could hear the waves crashing against the island, as well as the wind, and every so often he caught a snippet of Poison Ivy's husky, deranged laughter. Everything and everyone was going exactly what they were supposed to. Everyone except…

He checked the watch he'd taken from a dead orderly. It had been twelve minutes since Ivy had broken the walls of Solitary Confinement and Edward had overridden the security to open the cell doors. She should be here by now.

_Nothing to do but wait,_ he thought wearily, gazing up at the moon.


	13. Acrophobia

A/N: Ach, cheesy romantic chapter is cheesy and romantic... I apologize in advance. (But come on, I can't make them all creepy. It needs some simple and clean every once in a while.)

* * *

_Acrophobia  
_

Dr. Leroux's chest was on fire. He had just ran through the whole asylum, searching everywhere for something to defend himself with. Eventually, he found an unconscious guard and snatched his gun before he woke. He made his way to Becky's cell, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Rebecca—come with me—you have to—not safe—" he wheezed as he reached it. He tried to lean against the Plexiglas wall, but it wasn't there. He stumbled, swore, and sat down on her cot to try and determine what would have happened to her.

She probably wasn't in the asylum anymore; she had probably cooked something up with Nygma and was running around outside. He thought of her, terrified, narrowly escaping Ivy's plants, being dragged along roughly by the Scarecrow. His resolve hardened and he sucked in great gulps of air, steeling himself for whatever might happen.

But how could he find her? He couldn't use the security cameras; the security had all been overridden in the breakout. He couldn't possibly continue searching on foot. So how..?

He felt a pebble fall on the top of his head and glanced up at a crack in the ceiling, a smile forming on his mouth. The roof. He could go and look for her there.

* * *

Becky jogged along the corridor, panting slightly. She was beginning to lose the initial thrill of escape, and was now much more frightened than she had counted on being. She was lost. She didn't know how to get to the roof, and she didn't know how to get back to her cell. Eventually she came to a halt in front of some of the older cells, the ones with metal bars instead of Plexiglas. She hitched the heavy Poe anthology into a more comfortable position, feeling hot tears well in her eyes. What if she never made it to the roof? What if she got crushed by falling bits of the asylum? What if she—

"Alice?" someone called at the sound of her footsteps. "A-Alice, is that you?"

She drew back instinctively as a squat blonde man approached her from the shadows. "Alice?" he asked sheepishly. His voice sounded rusty.

"No, I—I'm not Alice," Becky said nervously as the Mad Hatter looked at her pleadingly.

"Oh," he said, his face falling. "Well, then, who are you?"

She shook her head. "I'm looking for the Doormouse, Mr. Te—Mr. Hatter," she said.

The Hatter's eyes lit up. "The Doormouse?" he repeated happily. "Why, he left just moments ago—at least, I think it was moments ago—you see, my watch is two days late," he said apologetically.

"Where is he?" Becky asked desperately.

"He went that way," the Hatter said, a little miffed. Becky ran down the corridor, skidded to a stop, and looked up at a heavy door labeled MAINTENANCE. It came open with a tug and she dashed inside.

"Thank you, Mr. Tetch!" she called, closing the door behind her.

She rushed up the stairs. Just a few more, just a few more—her ribs protested sharply as she forced herself to breath slowly, the heavy book bouncing against her chest painfully. She tripped a few times, no doubt covering her legs in bruises, but she didn't care. All that mattered was reaching the top of the stairs and getting out onto the roof.

* * *

Jonathan glanced back down at the watch. It had now been almost eighteen minutes since the breakout. He put his hands on the ledge and leaned out into the night, his fingers trying to crush the stone beneath them. Where was she? Why wasn't she here? His jaw clenched as a horrible thought occurred to him. What if she'd run into Croc? Or Zsasz? He shook his head. No. That wouldn't happen. It _couldn't_ happen.

He heard a bang as the door to the maintenance stairs flew open, causing him to jump slightly and whirl around.

There she was. Chest heaving, knees shaking, hair disheveled, Becky stood frozen in the doorway. She took a few halting steps toward him, crossing the same distance he did with one stride. He held his arms out to her and she practically tackled him, running into his chest and throwing her arms around his neck. He stumbled backwards, his back hitting the ledge of the roof.

She buried her face in his bony shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her waist, weaving one hand into her red hair and pressing her closer. Neither one of them said anything for a long time. Eventually she looked up at him and he realized there were tears streaming down her face.

"Why are you crying, my pet?" he murmured, turning around and gently setting her on the ledge so their faces were even. He kept his arms tightly wound around her back, and she clutched his shirt like an infant with a blanket. She tried to speak, couldn't, and shook her head. He lifted his hand and cradled her jaw with his thin fingers. Her breath hitched.

"Oh, this won't do at all," he said, smiling a little. "Becky Albright reduced to tears by mean old Scarecrow. What _is_ the world coming to?"

He looked down at Becky. Brave Becky, Plucky Becky, _His_ Becky. She looked back at him, wide-eyed, not scared yet, but not far, either. The ice in his green eyes seemed to thaw a bit as she whispered, "You don't scare me."

"Is that so?" Jonathan whispered back. She sniffled and rapidly blinked away tears. He smiled a little more, leaning forward and pulling her with him, so that her back hung over the edge of the roof. She would have fallen to her death if he let go of her.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and held her in a crushing embrace.

"Acrophobia," he said, almost to himself. "Commonly known as the fear of heights. It's a very rational fear, actually. If I let you go, from this height…" He glanced over her shoulder to the ground far below them. "Well, I doubt there'd be anything left to bury."

He leaned even farther out, her red curls twirling thoughtlessly in the wind. "Still not scared?" he said.

"No. Not one bit." He could feel her breath catching against his neck and her hands shook on his shoulders. He smiled and pulled her back up slowly, kissing her forehead.

"Of course not, Plucky Becky," he said. She looked up at him again and he smiled his crooked smile. He tried to speak, but found his voice wouldn't work. He put a hand on the ledge beside her and pulled her closer, breathing in the smell of her hair. He shuddered at the unfamiliar feeling of sharing body heat with another person, but refused to let her go, like a ghost had been stirred inside his soul and wouldn't rest until it possessed all of her love.

Before long, there were sirens in the distance. Jonathan stood and wiped her eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath himself before helping her off the ledge. He held out his hand to her and she looked at it in confusion. He wiggled his fingers insistently and she smiled hopefully, touching his palm with her fingers gently. His hand closed around hers like a Venus fly trap and he towed her back through the maintenance corridor.

* * *

Dr. Leroux was almost at the roof. He reached the top of the maintenance steps and froze, realizing that he was not alone. He saw a lanky frame silhouetted against the night sky and tightened his grip on the gun, immediately knowing that it was Crane. He took a tentative step forward, gun poised, but the man didn't seem to notice him. He held his breath and climbed up into the shadows of a statue of Michael, watching Crane intently.

A few minutes passed by, and the burlap man seemed unnerved by something. Leroux wryly wondered if his former patient was contemplating suicide. He silently cheered as the man approached the side of the roof and leaned over, but his heart sank when that was all that happened. He cocked and readied the gun. Better he do it now, while his resolve was strong. He could easily get rid of the gun too. He took aim at Crane's head, then at his middle, deciding that he wanted him to suffer. He had to do it now, do it soon, do it do it DO IT—

BANG!

Leroux jumped, repressing a shout. There was a loud metallic clang from below him, and he angrily peered down at the roof to see what had interrupted his execution. As soon as he did so, he wished he hadn't.

Becky rushed towards the skinny man, the doctor silently pleading with her to do the opposite. She threw her arms around him and Leroux felt his face grow hot as anger bubbled up inside him. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak. All he could do was watch.

They left holding hands, and they left Dr. Leroux with an abyss between his ribs. He slowly and laboriously crawled down from his hiding spot when he was sure they had gone, finding it much harder to get down than it was to get up. His hands shook with anger and despair. He looked down at the gun in his hand, the metal winking at him like a stripper in the dark. He flung it from the roof with a snarl of disgust, falling to his knees and pressing his hands into his eyes.

He wanted to claw his eyes out; all he could see, even when they were closed, was Rebecca with… with _him._ Being kissed, being held, being… He couldn't bear it and let out another cry of despair. His voice echoed back at him from the rooftop of the asylum, seeming to mock his pain.

He clutched his hair, possessed with an insane idea, a deranged idea… a good idea. He stood, grinning like one of the Joker's victims, and made his way back to his office. He pulled up the files on Rebecca Albright and Jonathan Crane, giggling quietly as he went through and took notes. Crane would pay. They would both pay.


	14. Count to Ten

_Count to Ten  
_

Jonathan opened his eyes blearily as the guards woke everyone for breakfast, cawing like angry crows. He sat up in his stiff cot and rubbed his cold fingers to loosen them. It had been two weeks since the breakout, and surprisingly, only two guards had been killed. Five more were in the hospital, as well as Dr. Stephens from art therapy, but the majority of the asylum's denizens had gotten by with only a few scrapes and bruises. No one had even succeeded in making it off the island, save for Killer Croc, but he was quickly recovered.

He stared bleakly out of his cell, watching the dejected patients make their way to the cafeteria for breakfast. He really didn't feel like getting up; he rarely got a satisfactory night's sleep, and when he did, it clung to him like cobwebs. He groaned slightly, pressing his palms to his eyes resignedly as the noise in the corridor grew, knowing he would have to get by with the few hours of sleep he had.

He exited the cell and began following the current of chattering patients, glad he could at least slip into the mind-numbing activity of walking. However, he had barely taken four steps when he heard someone calling his name.

"Dr. Crane!"

He paused and turned, frowning slightly in confusion. Dr. Cassidy was running towards him—well, running as best she could through the viscous stream of patients on their way to breakfast—with a worried expression on her face. Her hair was slightly disheveled from its usual tight bun and her papers hung haphazardly out of a manila file folder under her arm.

"Dr. Crane, I need to speak with you—Over here, please, I'd rather not be interrupted—"

Something about her clipped, frightened tone made his spine prickle. She took his sleeve and pulled him into a little alcove at the end of the corridor, her cheeks flushed.

"What?" he asked when she stopped. It came out a bit too harshly, but he didn't bother to correct it.

She looked up at him with worry, as though she were afraid he would get angry and attack her. She pursed her lips and sucked in a quick breath.

"Miss Albright is in the hospital," she said quietly.

There was an urgency in her voice that made his back itch once more, like a persistent spider. "What do you mean?" he asked quickly.

She looked at him, how stiff he was, how determinedly calm he forced himself to look. She wanted to embrace him and tell him that everything would be alright, but instead, she shook her head slightly. "It's nothing serious," she replied. She pretended not to notice when his chest sunk as he let his breath out. She continued gently, "She just got in a little accident. She'll be in the infirmary for a few days, just to make sure she'll be okay, but she should be fine. We just need to get the last of the glass out."

"The last of the _what?"_ Jonathan said. He had meant to sound angry and menacing, but instead his voice broke and it came out in a frightened squeak. Dr. Cassidy immediately took a step back and bit her lip.

"It's nothing serious!" she repeated frantically. "She was—she was in therapy last night and she—fell."

"Fell how?" Jonathan snarled. Cassidy shrunk even farther away from him.

"I don't know," she said in a tiny voice. "One minute she was talking to Dr. Leroux, and the next, she's—"

"_What happened, Sarah?"_

"She fell through a glass door!"

Jonathan felt like a bear trap had clamped down on his lungs. He couldn't breathe. Was this what it felt like when Becky had an asthma attack? He felt a twinge in his gut as he recalled how fragile her health was. Oh, what he wouldn't give to have her with him now, gasping and choking on her own breath. At last he knew how to fix her that way.

Cassidy reached out to him, then snapped her hand back without touching him. "She'll be fine," she said again, sounding unconvinced herself. He glared at her.

"I want to see her," he demanded, every muscle tensed like a dog waiting to bite.

"I—I don't know if we can—" Dr. Cassidy began, but she quickly stopped as Jonathan loomed over her. "I'll take you right now, how's that?" she squeaked.

Jonathan followed her to the infirmary area of the asylum, seething the whole way. She tried to start a conversation a few times, but quickly gave up after she felt his blue-green eyes burning into her. She filled out a sheet of paperwork at the desk, a guard watching them suspiciously, and led Jonathan down a row of closed doors. They stopped at the end of the corridor and she put a hand on his arm.

"She's… They gave her some painkillers earlier. I don't know if she's awake yet."

"I don't care."

Dr. Cassidy allowed herself a moment of pity for her patient, her soft gaze flickering across his face sadly, before opening the door. "You can have forty-five minutes," she said quietly. "And then a guard will come get you. I'll be right outside." Her eyes hardened once more, so that he wasn't sure if she had been giving him comfort or a warning. Probably both. He pushed past her roughly without saying anything and stepped into Becky's room.

She lay on a thick hospital bed that Jonathan had seen too many times before, her red curls twisting across her pillow like an afterthought. There was an IV and a heart monitor trailing away from her limp hand, and she had several bandages on her face and arms. The hospital gown and bed looked far too big for someone so small.

He stared at her for a moment, feeling his chest tighten again. He leaned against the side of her bed for support, clenching the bar so hard that it shook slightly beneath him. She slowly opened her eyes like her lashes were made of lead. The little brown irises found him and she smiled blearily.

"Hey," she breathed.

He let out a forced chuckle. "Hey," he said back. "That's all you can say? Hello?"

She laughed, slow and hushed. He didn't like it. "What did you want me to do? Serenade you?"

"You don't have… to…" His voice trailed off as she watched him wearily. He fussed with a lock of her hair to distract himself.

"Come here," she mumbled, pulling his arm and scooting over in the bed so he could sit next to her. "There. That's better." She smiled again and his brow knit. She looked so fragile and helpless; he didn't want to break her.

"I don't—" He began, but she put a hand over his mouth determinedly.

"I'm not some plucky high schooler anymore," she said softly. "You don't have to worry about me."

"I like to worry about you. It gives me something to do when I'm stuck in here."

She laughed and he smiled halfheartedly. She lay back onto the pillows, pulling him down with her. He let her pull him close, cringing when he saw the plastic tubing on her arm stretch out. She put his head on her chest, her arms around his shoulders reassuringly. He was reluctant to be so close at first—his neck stiffened as he hovered above her collarbone, not wanting to put any unnecessary pressure on her body, afraid he would crush her ribcage if he pressed to closely. After a minute, when nothing happened except that rain began to pound on the windows, he slowly let his ear rest against her loose hospital gown.

He could feel her chest rising and falling as she breathed, and he could hear her little heart beat like a bird in a cage. He finally wrapped his arms around her and drew her close, feeling his hair ruffle as she sighed.

"You smell different," she murmured.

"They don't let me smoke."

"Huh…"

She fell silent with another sigh. He closed his eyes and let the sound of her breathing and the rain wash over him.

After a while, Dr. Cassidy rapped gently on the door. Not receiving any answer, she slowly opened it and poked her head in. "Alright, Dr. Crane, time's u—" She fell silent when she saw her patients.

Becky was fast asleep, her heart monitor beeping quietly as though it was timing how long she could stay out. Jonathan was asleep as well, his head resting on her sunken chest. Dr. Cassidy felt her resolve crumble as she looked at them, with their arms around each other, half-buried in hospital sheets. She saw how his dark hair brushed against her chin, and the two small feet poking out between two larger ones at the end of the bed. She smiled wearily and shut the door as quietly as she could.

The guard looked at her quizzically when she began walking away, but she shook her head and told him to stay put. "Just leave them be for now," she said. He shrugged and leaned against the wall outside the hospital room.

It looked like Jonathan was going to get a good night's sleep after all.


	15. Old Wounds

_Old Wounds  
_

Becky was finally allowed out of the hospital wing a few days later. Dr. Cassidy had tentatively, if not a bit reluctantly, signed off on her to be taken off of the special attentions list. She could now visit the rec room and cafeteria with the rest of the patients, as well as having more time in group therapy. It was just after lunch on her first day out, and Dr. Cassidy had taken the girl into her office.

"Just promise me you'll be careful," she said wearily.

"I will. I already know Edward and Beth. And Jonathan."

_That's what I'm worried about,_ Cassidy thought grimly. Nevertheless, she nodded her head and escorted her patient to the rec room. She paused to glance in. Seeing the Scarecrow, the Riddler, and his girlfriend, she involuntarily held her breath as Becky walked in.

She slowly, somewhat nervously, approached the little trio near on a sofa. There was a puzzle spread out on the coffee table before them, and it was new, by the looks of it. Jonathan and Edward were debating where a specific piece should go when she reached them. Beth was the first to look up.

She grinned and elbowed Edward in the side, but he did not look up. "I can be given, stolen, broken, and mended," she said.

"A heart. That's easy. Now come help me with th—" She elbowed him again and he looked up. He broke into a grin as well and moved over to make room for Becky. She remained standing, watching Jonathan uneasily.

Edward coughed pointedly and prodded his friend in the arm.

"What do you want?" Jonathan snapped, glancing up as well. He saw Becky and accidentally dropped the puzzle piece he was holding. Beth snickered.

"I think we'll just leave you two lovebirds alone for a moment," Edward said, repressing a giggle. He stood and offered Beth a hand, and they left together to watch television. Jonathan pretended not to notice as they both turned around the back of the couch and stared intently at him.

He watched as Becky examined the puzzle for a moment, and then she gently took the piece out of his hand. Her fingers were unexpectedly warm on his skin. "I think this goes here," she said softly, fitting it into a corner.

"Yes, and you go here." Jonathan pulled her onto the couch next to him with his skinny arms and she let out a little squeak of surprise.

He paused and examined her wounds, scowling. He brushed her hair out of her face gently to see the clump of Band-Aids on her temple, and tilted her chin up with his thumb to look at the butterfly bandage on her jaw. He took her arm and gently traced the cuts with his fingers, drawing away from the ones that needed stitches.

"Show me your leg," he said darkly. She obediently pulled her feet onto the cushion and lifted up her baggy orange pants. His jaw stiffened; the damage was much worse here. Again, he let his fingers trail along her wounds, pushing her skin down slightly and leaving a bloodless trail behind. At least they were all clean, and he had to agree with Dr. Cassidy that it wasn't that bad. She might have a few scars, but then again—he smiled a little at the thought—so did he. And it could have been much worse.

"Are you done, Dr. Crane?" she teased. She caught his hand as he pulled it away and put his arm around her, nestling between his ribs and his shoulder.

Jonathan ignored her, though he liked the way the back of her head rested against his collarbone. "What happened?" he asked imperiously.

"It was an accident," she said quickly. His hand clenched momentarily in her hair.

"Don't lie to me," he hissed.

"Jonny, I wasn't—" She broke off as he pushed her off his chest and stared down his nose at her. She knew that look; it was a look she'd seen many times before, a look that was both threatening and loving at the same time. She bit her lip and he took her chin in his hand, squeezing perhaps a little too hard.

"I'll stop by and see you later," he said, his voice menacingly soft.

"Dr. Crane? It's time for your therapy session," called an orderly. Jonathan sucked in his cheeks angrily but followed the orderly put of the rec room, leaving Becky somewhat confused and more than a little scared.

* * *

A/N: I know that Becky doesn't have to worry about getting gassed anymore, but really. If you had an angry Crane threatening to visit you, you'd be a little freaked out as well.


	16. House Call

_House Call  
_

Becky lay on her cot, curled into a ball and facing away from the Plexiglas wall of her cell. Her breath was slow, but her eyes were wide open and her mind was racing. Jonathan was coming for her. She should have been thrilled. Instead… she remembered his angry hand on her chin and shuddered.

But it had been hours since she had gone to bed—at least, it felt like hours. She should be asleep by now. Try as she might, though, she could not bring her thoughtful sheep in to be counted. She attempted to read some of her Poe anthology, but couldn't concentrate. Besides, she had already read everything at least twice already. She shut her eyes and waited for what felt like years in the tangible darkness around her.

No sooner had she felt sleep close its arms around her than she heard a security card being scanned and her cell door opened. She jerked awake, hearing the cell door close and the soft footsteps approaching her like dead leaves on the ground. She stared at the wall before her with wide eyes and refused to turn, although she knew who the intruder was.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mocking-bird…"

She shuddered as she heard Jonathan's cold voice humming the lullaby and drew into herself more. For the first time in months, she was actually, legitimately terrified of him.

"And if that mocking-bird don't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring…"

She sensed him crouching beside her, looking over the edge of the bed like a child. She instinctively held her breath until her lungs ached, a last-minute attempt at playing dead.

"I know you're awake, my pet," he whispered.

She bolted upright, drawing her knees close to her chest in fear. She started to scream but he clapped his hand over her mouth and pushed her back against the wall. Her breath was heavy and loud against his fingers, and her brown eyes darted around him in terror. She wriggled around a little beneath his hands, but wasn't strong enough to break away.

"Oh, come now, I'm not going to hurt you," he hissed. She could feel her rapid heartbeat slow minutely as she saw that he was not armed with any needles or spray-cans to torment her with. She slowly released the tension in her muscles, and he took his hand away from her mouth, but kept her between him and the wall.

"What do you want?" she said in a tiny voice. Her lip trembled and his brow furrowed almost apologetically, leaning over her.

"I just want to know how you got hurt," he murmured. He pushed her tangled hair out of her face, happy that she didn't shrink away from his touch like she had so many times before.

"It was an accident," she whispered desperately.

"Becky, I know you're lying. I'm a doctor of psychiatry. And even if I wasn't," he told her, smiling crookedly, "I'd still know you well enough to see that."

Her eyes watered. "I can't tell you," she whimpered, burying her face in his orange asylum shirt. He brought his legs up on the cot and hunched over her protectively.

"Yes, you can," he murmured softly, stroking his thumb up and down on her back. He smiled wryly, adding, "If you don't, I can always force it out of you."

She gave a slight moan of despair, muffled in his chest. He chuckled inwardly.

"I was in Dr. Leroux's office," she mumbled eventually, her face still hidden beneath him. He stiffened.

"Why?" he asked sharply.

"Jonny, I'm not telling you if you're going to act like Edward."

Jonathan scowled, but he found it hard to remain angry at her when she was clinging to him so timidly. It was as if a cat was comforting a frightened baby bird. "Fine," he said sourly.

"I was in his office and I fell. You know how there's that door with the big window, leading into his study?"

"Yes."

"I fell through that."

"Becky, I know you didn't fall."

"Yes I did, that's what I keep telling you—"

She fell silent as Jonathan forced her face up and kissed her. She made a small noise of protest and pushed against his stomach, but he pinned her against the wall of the cell and pushed her arms up above her head. She gave a feeble kick slightly to his left, not really trying to hit him, shivering as he ran his fingers down her forearms.

She sat up as straight as she could to make the kiss last, but he pulled away nonetheless, a surly twist on his lips. "You didn't fall," he repeated with weary anger.

Becky opened her mouth to say something, but he shook his head and leaned closer. He hovered over her face hesitantly, feeling her breath on his chin, just like the first time he'd kissed her. She smiled, her closed eyes crinkling up a little, as she sensed his uncertainty. She ran her small hands through his hair and wrapped her arms around his skinny middle. "I love you," she said softly. She could feel his spine bumping up under his shirt as he hunched over her.

"I love you too." Then he chuckled a little, his breath ruffling her hair.

"What?" she said defensively. Was it really that funny to hear her say it?

"I don't think I've ever had this particular outcome with an experiment."

It was her turn to giggle. She squeezed him tightly. "Stay here," she mumbled. He stretched out an arm so she could lay her head in the crook of his elbow. She shifted a little to allow him more room; the cot was only meant for one person, after all, but considering his scrawny build, she didn't have to move much. She was still between him and the wall, but she liked it. It was protective and comforting, rather than restraining, as it may have once been.

She took in a deep breath and let it out again, finally feeling sleep overcome her. She smiled one last time, wriggling closer to him as he touched her face curiously. It seemed all she needed to sleep was a little medicine.


	17. An Apple A Day

_An Apple A Day  
_

"Harleen, would you like to speak?"

"No."

"What about you, Miss Isley?"

"Dr. Bartholomew..."

"I'm sorry—_Ivy,_ is there anything you'd care to share with the group?"

Ivy smirked, her eyes roving around the girls in group therapy beneath her long lashes. Beth, Harley, Becky, and herself were gathered in a little circle around Dr. Bartholomew. Officially, they were discussing their insecurities, particularly with men. Really, it was just an opportunity to discuss their relationships with the same zealousness as a gossip magazine. Bartholomew wasn't looking very comfortable, a thought that made all the females smile.

"I would just like to say that all the men I've met are jerks," she said boredly. "I don't know why you insist on following them around like ants on a sugar trail."

"Maybe we just have a sweet tooth," Beth countered mischievously.

Ivy raised an eyebrow at her. "Careful, dear, you're making Dr. Bartholomew blush."

"Ladies, please," he said, his cheeks red. "This is therapy, not the salon."

"Coulda fooled me," Harley said under her breath.

Dr. Bartholomew shot her a look before glancing at his notes. He leafed through a few pages, and looked up with an interested look on his face. "Miss Albright, I was wondering if you'd care to contribute anything?" There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes that everyone recognized. It was the look he got whenever he honed in on one particular patient. Becky bit her lip and rocked back in her chair a little, hugging her knees.

"I don't really have that much experience with men," she said meekly, hoping that would deter Bartholomew.

"What about Docta Crane?" Harley challenged innocently.

Becky glanced from Harley to the doctor awkwardly. When no one came to her defense, she continued sheepishly, "He's nice to me."

The women exchanged smirks while Dr. Bartholomew frowned. They all remembered the commotion Jonathan had caused when the guards found him in Becky's cell the previous morning. Beth wouldn't stop pestering her for "details," no matter how much Becky tried to explain that nothing tawdry had happened.

Dr. Bartholomew cleared his throat for attention. "Would you say that you are merely friends, or is your relationship something more… um…" He struggled to find words.

"Who's on top, Becky?" Beth giggled. Bartholomew gave her another angry look, and the girls burst into laughter.

"Miss Zayne, I hardly think that is an appropriate question," he huffed. "Rebecca's relationship with Dr. Crane is already a sensitive matter—"

"What's that supposed to mean, Doctor?"

Everyone fell silent and stared at Becky. No one had expected her to say much of anything, let alone challenge the doctor so blatantly. Harley, Beth, and Ivy watched intently, their eyes flickering between doctor and patient.

"I simply meant that—I just—well—" Dr. Bartholomew stuttered. Then, exasperatedly, "There is a bit of a scandalous aspect in the age difference between the two of you, Rebecca."

She glared at him and he continued, unaware of the danger he was in. "According to your file, you hadn't even graduated when… all of this started. You can see why there might be a certain—concern—about the nature of your relationship."

"Dr. Bartholomew, are you aware of how my other experience with men went?"

"No, but I'd appreciate it if you could tell me."

She smiled a crooked smile, much akin to a certain other patient. "I only went on one date with them," she said coolly. "But I'm sure they remember me forever... I mean, it's not like forever lasts long when you're being beaten to death."

Dr. Bartholomew dropped his notes. Becky rested her chin on her bony knees, a smug look on her face. Beth was watching her proudly, Harley beamed eagerly, and Ivy seemed torn between disdain and glee.

Becky continued as though nothing unusual had happened. "Jonathan, on the other hand, is a very _civilized_ person. I doubt I'd ever have to resort to such drastic measures with him."

Ivy's malice finally spilled over. "Unless he turns you into one of his beloved experiments, _Plucky_ Becky," she said venomously.

"Who said I'm not?" the redhead countered angrily, a sullen frown visible over her angular knees. "But honestly, do you think I'd still be alive if he didn't like me?"

Ivy fell silent, her scarlet hair falling in a curtain over her face. Her confidence seemed to crumble and she stiffened in the cheap folding chair, her arms straight out at her sides, clutching the metal cushion. Her shoulders raised and she hunched over, not unlike a flower wilting. "No," she murmured softly. "I suppose you wouldn't."

Dr. Bartholomew cleared his throat. "I think that's enough for now," he said quietly.

* * *

Jonathan sighed resignedly and sunk into his cot. He wished he could have his mask back, or at the least, to know that Becky was keeping it safe for him. The guards had taken it back after the breakout, and he felt uncomfortably vulnerable not knowing its precise whereabouts.

His cell had also been afforded new security measures after his night out. He watched the heavyset man in blue outside his cell contemptuously, wondering idly how many donuts he had consumed throughout the day. For lack of anything better to do, he took out his stack of Polaroids and began looking through them.

He paused every now and then, remembering a particular fear he'd tested Becky with, making a few beats of silence fall between the otherwise methodical _fwip_ of the photographs being rearranged. She had such pretty screams… He pursed his lips, longing for either red hair or a cigarette to take him out of the mind-numbing boredom.

After a while he heard an unexpected noise. "Will you, won't you, will you, won't you..?" somebody whispered. His green eyes darted up from the photographs to zero in on the wall that the voice originated from. "Won't you join the dance?"

"Depends on the music," he murmured back. For once, he was glad that his cell was next to him was occupied by Jervis Tetch. He heard a chuckle from the Englishman's cell.

"I never imagined you to be one for such frivolous activities as dancing, Doctor," Jervis said.

Jonathan smirked a little and rolled onto his back, setting the photographs carefully face-down on his stomach. "I'm not," he replied curtly, but not unpleasantly.

There was a loud knock on the Plexiglas wall. Jonathan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, saying stiffly, "I do wish you wouldn't do that, Leroux. It's a nasty habit, and it's quite reminiscent of a child at the zoo. I don't think many of your patients here would take kindly to being treated—" he broke off with a mirthless chuckle. "Well, to being treated _more_ like an animal than they already are."

His green eyes flickered about the corridor. "Where's the guard, anyway?" he said smoothly.

Dr. Leroux scowled with unexpected hostility. "He's taking a coffee break," he replied contemptuously. "Believe me, Crane, if I had my way, I wouldn't be here now. But, Miss Albright has insisted that I give you something."

"Has she really?" The skinny man sat up, his condescending tone underlined with genuine interest. Leroux sneered and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. He pushed it through the tray and into the cell. Jonathan stood slowly, pretending that the doctor's presence was unnoticed. He picked up the note.

_Dear Jonathan,_ it began.

_I want you to know that I forgive you for all the things you've done to me. I am truly sorry for the life you've had to live, but I have no dessire to share that life with you or carry it out myself. I will not be seeing you anymore in Arkham and I would apreciate it if you could keep away from me as well. I just want a normal life. I would like to remain freinds, but I don't believe that's possable. So please, just let me finish my rehabillitation and get back to my life._

_Sincereley,_

_Becky_

His green eyes roamed over the paper one more time and he smiled. Leroux stared at him a bit too eagerly. The skinny man placed the note back in the tray and pushed it back out.

"You are a terrible speller, Dr. Leroux," he sneered. "How ever did you graduate med school?"

Leroux started to protest, thought better of it, and snatched the paper back. He angrily stuffed it into his pocket and stormed away.

"My, my, that sounded serious," came Jervis's concerned voice. Jonathan smirked unconcernedly and went back to his Polaroids. "Are you sure the man isn't mad?"

"We're all mad here," Jonathan replied smugly.

* * *

"Dr. Cassidy, I'm not sure you understand the nature of the situation. Jonathan Crane is… _was_ a brilliant psychologist. Now he's just another criminal, albeit one with a Ph. D."

"No, Dr. Leroux, you don't understand—"

"What don't I understand, Sarah? That a college undergraduate is being coerced into an affair with a man nearly twice her age? Or that said man likes to spend his time torturing innocent people?"

"Just listen to me—"

"I don't even know how you can stomach it, frankly."

"Dr. Leroux!" Cassidy stopped, shocked at her colleague's insensitivity. Her cry echoed down the empty hallway and she immediately lowered her voice to a furious whisper. "Becky Albright is in a very fragile mental state—"

"Don't I know it," Leroux muttered.

"_Excuse me?"_

Dr. Cassidy stared at him. He wondered if her eyes could possibly get any wider. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, askance like a fish out of water, before she shook her head and left. Dr. Leroux scowled at her back as she went back down the hallway into Arkham. _He_ was going home, like any reasonable person would.

* * *

"They're late," Jonathan commented blandly.

"No they're not," Edward replied. "The clock in here is fast."

Beth clutched her stomach theatrically. "Oh, who _cares_, I'm starving!" she whined.

Jonathan shook his head slightly. The shallowness of some people…

"I just hope it's not meatloaf," Becky said, shuddering a little. "I swear, last time there was some kind of small woodland mammal cooked into mine."

Crane held in a snicker and put his hand on Becky's leg discreetly, praying Edward wouldn't see. "My, you're learning fast," he noted.

Becky grimaced and leaned into his chest. "I've heard enough horror stories between you and the news. There isn't much left to learn."

Edward smirked and the orderlies entered the rec room, just as the clock on the wall hit 1:03. It was lunch time for Arkham Asylum.

* * *

Once the four of them had seated themselves at a table in the cafeteria, they were joined by a determinedly uninterested Poison Ivy. She refused to address Becky, and only glanced fleetingly at Jonathan.

"Eddie, I need you to make some of your little traps soon," she said, pulling the top off a juice box.

Edward's face lit up. "Anything specific?" he asked excitedly.

"Oh, you know me, anything in the Botanical Gardens would be nice… just don't hurt my babies," she added, arching an eyebrow. "Or I might just have to join Beth in beating you within an inch of your life." Her white eyes narrowed and she finally shot Becky a mocking glance. "Or I could just have little Becky do it for me. Goodness knows she has practice."

Jonathan stiffened and glared at Ivy, but Becky shuffled her feet uneasily. "Tell me, dear," the green woman continued with a dry smile, "Why did you do it? I'm sure the good doctor's just _dying_ to know."

Green eyes met white with barely controlled anger, causing Ivy to be somewhat taken aback. Jonathan had never really been angry at her; he had been mildly annoyed plenty of times, but he had always known that her teasing stemmed from affection. Now he looked at her like… well, like too many others had.

"We are not in therapy," he said menacingly. Ivy bristled.

"Of course not, _Jonathan," _she spat, slamming her tray down without eating anything and storming away.

He watched her go with a slight twinge of uneasiness, or perhaps it was guilt. Whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant, but it didn't last long. He snatched up his sandwich and began to eat determinedly. Becky nibbled at hers, her appetite much diminished. Edward ate like he always did, as though the orderlies might come and snatch his food away if he didn't consume it fast enough. Beth thoughtfully popped little morsels into her mouth, gazing off in the direction Ivy had left.

There was a cough and everyone turned, their eyes falling on Dr. Leroux like stones. He flushed and said, "Afternoon, Rebecca."

The redhead shrunk, almost unnoticeably, into Jonathan's chest. He glanced down at her with raised eyebrows, then back up to glare at Leroux. "Just thought I'd stop by and say hello," the doctor continued, too cheerily. Jonathan could see his eyes flicker down and up again over Becky, and she clawed at his arm, holding tightly to it like a safety rope.

She knew that look. She had seen it, felt it many times before. It was a look of wanting, of possessing, one that had often made her shudder when she felt the Scarecrow's glowing eyes roaming up and down like hands. She turned her face into his shoulder so she wouldn't have to see Leroux's smirk.

Jonathan curled his arm around her shoulders, staring at the doctor with undisguised hatred. "Don't you have paperwork to do, _Doctor?_" he hissed. Leroux gave one last lingering look at Becky and left.

Edward watched him go as well, his lip curled in distaste. "How hard do you think it would be to rig something in his office, darling?" he asked Beth darkly.

She was about to answer when a tinny squeal of delight caused them all to wince slightly. Harley bounded up to their table excitedly. "Docta Crane! Eddie! Eddie, guess what?" she shrieked.

"I'm sorry, did you say something, Miss Quinzell?" Edward said, rubbing his ear. Harley giggled and bounced up and down a little.

"Oh, don't tell me he's getting out of Solitary," Beth said with a horrified expression. Harley flung her arms around the blonde and clutched her tightly.

"Oooh, yes, yes, yes!" she squealed. "He's gonna be in the rec room right after this! I can't wait!"

"I can," Jonathan muttered. She didn't hear him, or if she did, she ignored his comment. She turned to Becky, who cringed a little.

"You get to meet my puddin'! Oh, I just know you'll like him—" she prattled on. Becky whimpered, causing Jonathan's lips to pull up in a smile.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you," he teased.

She snickered. "Yeah, good luck with that, _puddin'_."


	18. The Eyes Have It

_The Eyes Have It  
_

Becky curled into a fetal position, not wanting to allow any of her body to be seen. She would have swallowed herself whole, if she could, just to get away from the knowledge that eyes were on her. Eyes, always eyes, always watching, looking, seeing. She hated that feeling. She had heard girls talk about the sensation that someone was undressing you with their eyes, but never really understood what they meant until…

_I waNT rEvENge..._

_I wAnt yOur fEaR..._

_I WanT **YoUu**..._

From then on, it was always, _always_ eyes. Pale blue-green eyes, cold and calculating, but at the same time frightfully adoring, that would flicker up and down her frame with practiced speed. It was almost protective, but at the same time it was dark, something dark she didn't want to know about. It wasn't quite a gaze of wanting; it was a gaze of needing, of owning, of reassurance, perhaps. Reassurance that she was still breathing, still screaming, still his…

As time wore on she came to like his green eyes, she came to see the pain and the hate and the love and everything else. She felt his eyes on her and it became something familiar and comforting, just the same as if he'd said, plain as day, _"I've got you, Plucky Becky…"_

But the eyes on her now were not green. They were a muddy blue color, not quite grey, but dull and dark like the middle of the ocean. They flickered up and down and up and down like a child at the carnival, and they held none of the soft comfort of green or even glowing orange.

Burlap, too, had become something to calm her. She could recall precisely the way it felt when she touched it, almost rough, but not soft, either; she knew the way the stitches bumped up under her fingers like a protruding bone and the strange taste it would leave when she kissed it.

There was no burlap here.

There was only skin, pasty, flabby, greasy skin that looked like it was trying to melt over the blue eyes. The blue eyes had become calculating, but not for the same reasons the green ones had been. She shuddered and tried not to let a whimper escape her mouth.

"Oh, come now, Rebecca, what's all the fuss..?"

She flinched as she heard his voice, like her full name was a slap in the face. She had never really liked being called Rebecca, and she liked it even less so because it was not what Jonathan called her. It became more offensive still on the lips of the doctor outside her cell.

"Rebecca," he commanded.

She sat up, still hunched in a tight ball, her face buried in her knees. She glanced up at him from underneath her red hair, not bothering to brush it out of her face. She saw the security card protruding from his pocket and suddenly realized how little protection her clothing offered. One swipe of the card, and all that separated them was a flimsy, too-big cotton shirt and pants.

"What do you want?" she asked. She had meant for it to sound defiant and angry, but instead her voice broke halfway through and all that came out was a little squeak, not ill-fitted for a rodent.

Dr. Leroux smiled what he must have thought was a reassuring smile. It was really more of a leer, and it looked like Lon Chaney in _The Phantom of the Opera._

"I just want to see you happy, Rebecca," he said, his breath fogging the glass. "I just want to see you smile again."

"When have you ever seen me smile?"

"I believe you teased me with one, early on in your therapy," he replied. She gagged. She wanted to pull her shirt tighter for security, but not as much as she didn't want his hungry eyes to be able to trace her miniscule curves like he was cutting out a paper doll. She shifted one of her arms to better hide her face and his lip curled, noticing one of the few remaining bandages.

"You haven't told anyone about your little accident, have you?" he said with a nasty smile.

She shook her head frantically. "Nobody, I swear!"

"Not even the good Dr. Crane?"

"No," she repeated desperately. "No, no, no!"

He nodded satisfactorily. "Good. And speaking of Crane," Leroux added, with a menacing waggle of his finger, "You would do well not to let _vermin_ like the Doormouse into your cell."

She finally chanced to move her hair out of her face, so she could give him a pleading look. He chuckled. "Ah, ah, ah, none of that, you little minx," he smirked, causing her to shudder. "You just be a good little girl and stay away from your Scarecrow."

He soon left, but it took Becky much longer to recover. It had not been the first time Dr. Leroux had visited her cell under such pretenses, and every time made her feel horribly exposed. She crawled as far under her blankets as she could, trying to put his probing eyes out of her mind.

_Think of something happy,_ she told herself desperately. _Don't think of blue eyes. Think of green. Think of… of glowing orange…_ Her thoughts trailed off as she was stricken with a new idea, one that made her smile slightly despite her recent trauma. She thought of glowing orange eyes, like matches in the night. She thought of eyes and burlap and Jonathan's spidery hands holding her closely. And she thought of Jonathan's spidery hands, keeping their tight grip on her, but keeping a tighter one around Dr. Leroux's throat. She thought of the Scarecrow's glowing eyes that would wink like stars as the blue ones were pulled out of their sockets.

After a while, when most of the patients had been returned to their cells, she heard a pair of guards approaching. She glanced up and grinned when she saw a lanky figure marching stiffly between them. She immediately got out of her cot and pressed herself against the Plexiglas wall as he came near, praying that years of conditioning would not convince him to stare at the ground. One of the guards saw her and laughed, prodding Jonathan in the side. He jerked away angrily, but the guard gestured towards her cell.

Jonathan smiled slightly when he saw her. It was a shy, guarded smile, the only display of happiness he would willingly display in public. She returned it as he continued down the corridor, his feet moving away, but his eyes locked onto her.

She loved it when he looked at her like that.


	19. Childhood Traumas

_Childhood_ _Traumas  
_

Dr. Jonathan Crane, former professor of psychology and therapist at Arkham Asylum, was a wiry man. He had always been tall and skinny, as though God had pulled him out like a strip of putty before he was born. He had just learned to live with it. When his glasses and his bony form didn't deter people out of sheer contempt, they were intimidated by his height. Any female who'd ever seen any reasonable amount of skin exposed—swim lessons in middle school, getting his clothes stolen after PE—had, without fail, laughed herself silly. Their taunts had made him strong in body and mind, but apparently, he wasn't strong enough to fend off three Arkham guards.

"What's the matter, Scarecrow?" Berg cried maliciously, throwing yet another punch into the skinny man's stomach. "Nothin' to say?"

"Aw, he's just shy," said another guard. "He just needs a little pick-me-up." He removed a metal flask from his belt and forced Jonathan's mouth open, pouring whiskey down his throat and making him gag.

"Yeah, Boles! Show 'em who's boss!" the guards cheered. They took a break from beating him up for a minute or so, and then Berg went back to punching him, the other two guards supporting him by his thin arms.

"_Hey! What's going on here?" _

All three guards froze. Boles swore loudly, only to be shushed by an even louder Berg. They watched in trepidation as Lyle Bolton, the head of security, approached them.

"Uh—It's real nice to see you, boss—me and the boys was just—um, y'see, we was on our way to—"

"Shut up," Bolton snapped. The guards let Crane fall to the ground and took a step back as their leader leaned over him. "So, Dr. Crane, I see you've been well," he sneered.

The skinny man made a feeble attempt to get up, but Bolton kicked him in the stomach hard enough to send him sprawling a few feet away. He paid no attention to the high grunt of pain that escaped the patient, or to the unhealthy wheezing sounds he made when he breathed, or to the black eye and the blood spatters surrounding him. He took out his club and beat it against the palm of his hand angrily.

"I bet you thought I was coming to save you, didn't you, you little runt?" he snarled. "Well, I've been in the hospital for weeks because of you! Do you even know how hard it was to convince Arkham not to fire me on the spot?" He brought the club down viciously on the former doctor's ribs, hoping to break a few before the night was over. "Well, you're deep in it now, little Scarecrow."

The other three guards watched in a kind of horrified rapture as Bolton beat Crane mercilessly. Berg made a small noise as though in protest, but he fell silent when Lyle turned to glare at him, eyeing the bloody club in his hand uneasily. Boles took a swig from his flask. They all resigned themselves to whatever punishment that was being doled out to the skinny man, knowing that their punishment was to watch.

* * *

"Are you sure we should be going this way?" Becky asked timidly.

"Oh, sweetie, it'll be fine," Harley chirped. Ivy turned to glance at Becky emotionlessly as they walked down a maintenance hall. "Ivy and me have done this so many times, we thought you might want a little place to sit and think every once in a while—"

Becky sucked her cheeks in uneasily, about to ask where they were going when Harley explained, "There's this little shack out past the cemetery, it's got all sorts of cool old junk. I remember one time I went out there with Mista J and we—we… oh," she squeaked, her voice trailing off.

She had stopped walking as soon as she opened the door, and Ivy stopped too, frozen and stiff. Becky, stuck behind them, tried to pry her way through. "What?" she hissed. "What is it?"

She heard voices, deep, alpha-male voices. And she also heard another sound, one she had made herself not too long before—the sound of someone being horribly beaten. There were sickening _thuds_ and crunches, accompanied by swift whines of pain.

"Harley?" Becky said, feeling dread course through her. "Ivy? What's happening?"

There was no answer, other than Ivy turning her face away imperceptibly to glance at Becky. She pushed through the two girls, feeling a pair of hands struggle to hold her back, but she forced her way out onto the Arkham grounds.

She would have screamed, but she was too scared to make a noise. Four huge men, splattered in varying degrees of blood, were standing around a pitiful figure on the ground. They all whipped their faces towards the girls when they heard Harley's voice, and now all attentions were focused on the scrawny redhead shaking before them. She, however, only had eyes for their victim.

Jonathan. Jonathan, oh no oh no, not Jonathan, please don't be—

She ran to him, fell to her knees and clutched desperately at his bloodied clothing and his hair in an attempt to solicit a response. He whimpered, his eyes shut tight against the world, and she felt Berg's big arms close around her. "What's this? Scarecrow-ette?" he said with a cruel smile.

"She's young enough to be his student," Boles spat in disgust. The third guard laughed. "Or do you like 'em young, like Tetch, you filthy bastard?"

"Let go of her, you ape," came Ivy's steely voice.

Bolton turned his eyes to Harley and Ivy, tensed and ready to spring into action. He took in Harley's lean adolescent build and her blazing cerulean eyes; Ivy stood stiffly, but it was a menacing, zombie-like stance and it made him uneasy. He knew how easily she could kill someone, if she felt so inclined. Her brackish lips parted in a snarl as she repeated, "I said let. Her. Go."

Bolton gave his underlings a look, and they immediately retreated around him.

"I'm telling Dr. Arkham about this," Ivy continued menacingly. "And if he gets any lasting harm, any at all, I swear, I will personally rip out your throats."

"Yes ma'am," Berg smirked.

Immediately, Harley launched herself onto him, pinning him to the ground and shrieking profanities in her rage. She knew her small hands wouldn't be able to properly strangle him, so she balled them into fists and slammed them hard into his jaw with a practiced aim. Ivy stood hunched in the doorway, as though she had taken a step forward but Harley had beaten her to their foe. Her white eyes found the rest of the guards and then flicked above them. Bolton followed her gaze, and elbowed Berg in the side when he realized that all three of them were standing in the shadow of a knotted cherry tree. They fled, not wanting to risk her wrath.

Becky tried to hold Jonathan up in a way that wouldn't be too painful, but it was proving to be incredibly difficult. He wasn't entirely conscious, and he wouldn't speak or open his eyes. "Jonny," she said frantically. "Jonny, I—we're going to get help, okay? Ivy's here, and so is Harley, we're all here, I'm not going to leave you—" Tears sprung into her eyes as she was given the opportunity to fully take in his wounds.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and heard a sickening _snap_ from behind that informed her Harley had broken her plaything. Ivy knelt beside her, one slender arm around the girl's bony shoulders, her hand almost claw-like on Becky's arm. She said nothing, but the redhead could hear her breathing heavily as she looked down at Jonathan's beaten body.

"We need to move him, Becky," she said softly. Her voice was like a rose petal falling from a spurned lover's gift.

"What if we hurt him worse?" she squeaked. There was no reply. Swallowing hard, Becky took ahold of one of Jonathan's arms and fitted it over her shoulders. Ivy slid an arm around his side and lifted him up, causing a shriek of pain that made all three of them suck in their breath. As carefully as they could, they lowered him back down.

"I suppose that's out of the question." Harley took a look at her bloody hands in mild disgust, and wiped them on her pants. "I'll go get somebody, Red."

Ivy was silent as Harley left, staring intently at the small redheaded girl holding Jonathan's head in her lap. She clutched one of his hands tightly, and the green woman noticed that he was clutching back with enough force to break her fingers. She looked mournfully out at the cemetery.

It seemed like no time at all when Harley returned with Dr. Cassidy and Dr. Arkham. They succeeded in lifting Jonathan onto a stretcher, by no means painlessly, and he was carried inside to the hospital. The girls trailed after him, Harley and Becky in front, Ivy a few steps behind.

* * *

Dr. Cassidy watched unhappily as Crane was loaded onto a hospital bed and given anesthetic for his wounds. The nurse told her he was lucky to be alive, and luckier still to have only suffered a few broken bones and twisted joints, although he may have had a concussion.

Dr. Cassidy waited with Harley and Becky outside, sipping bitter coffee and watching them out of the corner of her eye. Becky stared stonily ahead, her usually bright brown eyes dead as a tomb. Harley held the girl tightly, tears streaming down her face. Ivy, it seemed, had simply vanished, dropped out of their caravan on the way to the infirmary, a leaf falling off its branch in autumn. Dr. Arkham was filling out paperwork. The clock on the wall ticked away seconds beneath its metal cage, the only sound in the otherwise stiflingly silent waiting room.

When the nurse returned, all three of their faces whipped around to her. Jonathan had a mild concussion that would be easily treated—Dr. Cassidy let out an audibly relieved sigh—but two of his fingers had been broken, as well as spraining one of his wrists; and he was going to have bruises for weeks. He also had a black eye and a split lip, as well as several other cuts in need of stitches.

"There's just a little problem," the nurse said anxiously, causing three hearts to speed uncomfortably. As if on cue, there was a crash as a tray of medical supplies flew out the open door of Jonathan's hospital room, accompanied by another nurse, shrieking in terror.

Dr. Cassidy rushed to the scene, followed by Harley and Becky. Jonathan was thrashing around in the bed, and Dr. Bartholomew was doing his best to restrain the skinny man, whose chest was heaving and cried out like he was possessed.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" He screamed, his voice cracking. "GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME, YOU PATHETIC—"

"Dr. Crane!" Cassidy cried, attempting to help Dr. Bartholomew. She took a step forward and gasped, ducking out of the way as Jonathan managed to hurl a water bottle at her. "Dr. Crane, if you don't calm down, we're going to have to sedate you! You need to be cleaned up!"

He laughed, the high, cold, mirthless laugh of the Scarecrow. The cackle turned to a snarl again as Dr. Bartholomew succeeded in restraining his legs, thus severely restricting his mobility. His green eyes, wide with who knew what he was feeling, locked onto Dr. Cassidy. "_Stay away from me!"_ he screeched.

Harley tentatively pushed her way into the room and approached his bed. "Docta Crane?" she said timidly, only to be rewarded by clawing hands scrabbling for her throat.

"I SAID STAY AWAY!"

"_Everybody out!"_ Cassidy commanded, grabbing Harley by the back of her shirt and pulling her out of the room. Dr. Bartholomew followed anxiously, almost slamming the door behind him. They could hear his deranged laughter rising again once they were in the hall.

"Dr. Bartholomew, I'd rather not sedate him," Cassidy said in vain. "But… it couldn't possibly set his therapy back any _more_…" Her voice trailed off bitterly.

Bartholomew shared her reluctance, but not her empathy. "I'm afraid that's the only option."

* * *

"What happened?"

"Well, y'see, Doc, Bolton showed up and—"

"_So?"_

"Well, he kinda… took charge," Berg said nervously. Dr. Leroux made him slightly uncomfortable; the more he got to know the man, the more he wished he didn't.

"For the love of—Are you telling me that you three inflicted all that without any motivation?" Leroux snapped. "If you were going to do it, you would have simply dashed his head against the wall or thrown him into the Bay. Apparently I was going to pay you far too little."

Berg shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Well, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn showed up, and they had that kid with them," he said defensively.

"What kid?" Leroux asked sharply.

"You know, the skinny girl with the freckles that has a thing for Crane."

There was a pause. "Get out of my office," Leroux hissed.

Berg stood and slowly walked to the door, looking over his shoulder hopefully. "Well—he was beat up pretty bad, sir—And you promised us a little, just to keep quiet—"

"OUT!" Leroux roared, leaping from his chair. Berg yelped and dashed away, slamming the door behind him.

It appeared he would have to punish his dear Rebecca.


	20. Force Feeding

_Force Feeding  
_

Dr. Leroux stared down at his patient, newly reinstated in the wake of Jonathan's vicious beating. She refused to look at him, and huddled as usual in her chair, face buried in her knobby knees. Oh, how he longed to lay a hand on those knees…

"Rebecca, look at me," he said angrily. She pulled her arms over her head, hiding her face deeper. "Rebecca." He put a hand out to touch her arm and she jerked away, rising from her chair. He smiled slightly.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it..?" he said, approaching her. She shrunk away but he followed her, changing their positions like a waltz. She stared at him, furiously silent and helpless, as he continued to step towards her. Her fingers clenched the desktop behind her tightly, but he seemed oblivious to her discomfort. In fact, it only seemed to embolden his efforts. She shuddered at his unwanted proximity.

"What do you want?" she whimpered.

"I want to fix you," he crooned. "I want to make you happy and whole again." He took another few steps and she leaned back, her spine compressing painfully against the desktop. She gave a sharp intake of breath as he stopped in front of her and his eyes darted away from her face.

"What are you hiding under there, Rebecca?"

She instantly wrapped her arms around her chest, feeling sick and violated. "Nothing that shouldn't be," she answered, her voice shaking.

"Is this what he did to you? Is this how he made you so timid and scared? Tell me what he did. I want to fix it."

"Don't touch me!" she cried, shrinking to the ground, her knees jutting out in front of her defensively. The doctor paid no heed to her desperate voice, but grabbed her arms in his clammy hands. They weren't cold like Jonathan's hands; Jonathan's hands had a kind of medical, neglected coldness that was easily warmed. Dr. Leroux's hands were simply clammy and unpleasant, like an underground cavern.

"I'm only trying to help."

"Get away—don't touch me!"

"Just let me—"

"I SAID GET AWAY!" Becky flew upright as she heard footsteps approach at the door, not really caring who it was, just as long as she could get away from him. She burst through the door and tripped into Dr. Cassidy's arms, barely keeping herself from dissolving into a full-blown panic-attack. Leroux watched with a kind of angry disappointment.

"Miss Albright!" Dr. Cassidy cried in shock. She wrapped her arms maternally, if not a bit awkwardly, around the girl. "What on Earth is-?"

And then she saw Dr. Leroux.

She fell silent and glared at him, taking a protective step backwards with the redhead. He said nothing, but gave her a curt nod and retreated back into his office.

"Here, I'll take you back to your cell—"

"No! No, please, Dr. Cassidy, can I go to the rec room? Or—or outside? Just—please—I don't want to be alone—" Becky pleaded, her breath stuttering as she tried to repress her terrified sobs.

"I'm sorry, Becky, but I'm not allowed to do that right now. I could take you to my office and we could talk for a while."

"No!" she shrieked. "No, that's alright. I'll—I'll just go back to my cell!"

"Okay," Cassidy said uneasily. Becky had difficulty restraining her urge to run away as fast as she could. She looked over her shoulder as they left, shuddering as she saw Dr. Leroux open his door and wave at her cheerily.

See you soon, Rebecca.

* * *

"Becky, you have to eat something," Edward said concernedly. "You're going to starve if you keep this up."

"I'm not hungry," Becky said dully, toying with her food. She blushed as her stomach rumbled loudly.

"Rebecca Albright, you are going to eat something if I have to shove it down your throat with my bare hands," Edward threatened. Beth punched him in the stomach.

"Please, Becky. You're worrying me," she said gently.

"I'm not hungry," she repeated forcefully.

Edward reached over and picked up a piece of her sandwich. "I swear I will," he said.

Beth arched an eyebrow at him in amusement. "Look, Becky, you're making him so upset that he's actually thinking about someone other than himself. You need to eat or else he'll snap."

Becky giggled, but it was strained. She froze as she heard footsteps behind her, not turning, but her eyes widened with fright as the polished shoes hit the tiled floor.

"Why aren't you eating, Rebecca?"

"Oh, hello, Dr. Leroux," she whispered. Her hands shook as she took her sandwich back from Edward and took a tiny bite.

"There, that's better," he said with a fatherly smile. He took too much time leaving, even with Beth and Edward glaring at him the whole time.

"Becky, seriously, you have to eat something," Beth said desperately.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Becky stood suddenly with her hand over her mouth. "Because I'm going to be sick," she said, and ran to a trash can to vomit.


	21. Domestics

_Domestics  
_

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…"

Becky glanced around her. She was getting married. She smiled a little, though she didn't know why. But why shouldn't she? Today was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, wasn't it?

"To witness the union of this man and this woman…"

She looked around at the audience gathered. The tiny church was filled to bursting; over half of the guests were people she didn't know. She caught sight of Dr. Cassidy's crimson hair, wound tightly in a bun, as always; Dr. Bartholomew and Dr. Stephens were there as well. She saw a lot of faces that she felt she should know, but she couldn't recall exactly who they were. She sighed.

"In holy matrimony…"

She looked down at her dress. It was the standard wedding dress, with a massive rustling skirt that made her feel like a mouse hiding inside a lion's mane. The fabric was stunningly, almost blindingly white, and it was crisp and cold against her skin. Her bouquet was filled with several voluminous roses, all red, with a few sprigs of white filler blossoms.

She looked up at the groom.

And she shrunk back in horror.

"Do you, Dr. Jeremy Leroux, take this woman to be lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, to have and to hold, until death do you part?"

Leroux looked down at her, his pasty skin shining, his blue eyes wide and full of joyful tears. He smiled.

"I do."

"And do you, Rebecca Albright, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health…"

Becky tried to step away, but her skirts kept her trapped at the altar.

"To have and to hold…"

She couldn't breathe, her dress had become too tight. Her bouquet was becoming difficult to hold up because it was so heavy. Her veil itched over her nose.

"Until death do you part?"

"I do."

Why had she said yes? Why had she spoken? As soon as the words were out, she clapped a hand over her mouth like she had uttered a horrible curse word.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

She shuddered as Dr. Leroux reached down to remove her veil, but it wouldn't come off. He scowled. "I don't know why you insisted on wearing this dreadful mask, Rebecca," he said.

Mask?

She looked over to the windows behind the altar. It was pitch black outside, with not even the stars or the moon to see by. But she didn't need any outside light to see her reflection, or the burlap mask that covered her face like a mourning veil. She gasped, seeing a lanky shadow in the background of her reflection, whirling around just in time to see it rush out the door.

"Wait!" she cried frantically, finally able to use her legs. She sprinted down the aisle, narrowly avoiding what seemed like hundreds of feet thrown out to trip her. The shadow was always just ahead of her, infuriatingly out of reach. She reached the door just as it dashed around a corner.

She skidded to a halt in the cold grass, panting as though she'd run for miles. She was at the entrance to the church's cemetery. It looked just like the one at Arkham. The gates were open, tempting and ominous. She could no longer see the shadow, but she looked down and realized there was a trail of straw for her to follow. She ran into the cemetery.

It only took her a few moments to become completely disoriented. There were tall, skeletal trees framing everything like a crown, and they blocked her view of the church. The straw trail didn't seem to follow any particular path, and turning to look over her shoulder, she found that she could no longer see the cemetery gates. Wind blew through everything and made a low howling noise.

"Hello?" she called nervously. There was no answer, not even an echo or a rustle of animals scurrying away. She shivered as a breeze went by her.

"Hello, hello, my pretty," said a whispery voice. She whirled around, searching for the speaker, but could see no one. Her dress was shriveling up, like all the coming years of being left in storage were to be exacted now instead. The roses in her bouquet had wilted, making it considerably lighter.

"Over here!" the whisper called imperiously. She watched raptly as the shadow appeared once more, much closer this time, and beckoned her with one withered finger. She ran to it, reaching out to snatch a sleeve or a lapel, but it vanished into a mausoleum. The doors were left open behind it.

Becky took one hesitant step forward, looked down at her white heels, and took them off, hurling them into the trees. The grass was dry and cool against her feet, soothing in its softness, but far from cushiony. Her dress, which had originally trailed a few feet behind her, had moldered away to reveal her ankles.

And then she was in the mausoleum, and the doors swung shut behind her with a deep, jarring snap. She looked around uneasily for the shadow, and found that she was once again at a wedding. The guests were all corpses, save for a few in the front that she recognized as patients at Arkham. She began slowly down the aisle, peering intently into the morbid faces of her audience. She recognized each and every one, and she couldn't help but repress a smile as she saw Bobby Herold, the boy who stood her up at prom, sitting right next to Bromley in the second pew. All the men in her life were here—all except—

She looked up as she heard a match being struck. It was loud and reverberated through the otherwise silent tomb. Candles were being lit, throwing long shadows the cold stone walls. She was just about to the altar now. There was an old woman in a black dress, with a matching veil over her face, right at the end of the pew. She held a decrepit crow in her lap, stroking it with stiff, uneducated movements.

_Oh, Granny, I'm so glad I can finally meet you._

She felt light on her face and looked at the towering candles at the altar. The shadow that had lured her into the mausoleum was just that—a teeming mass of black, like he was made out of vapor—and it stood tall and erect behind the altar, a heavy book propped open before it.

"Dearly beloved," he began.

Becky reached the altar and stopped, taking it all in. It really wasn't an altar, she found upon closer inspection, but a coffin decorated for the occasion with mildewed flowers and cobwebby candelabras. There were a few jack-o'-lanterns littering the floor.

"We are gathered here today to witness the union of this man and his mistress in unholy matrimony…"

She looked up at her groom, looming taller than everyone except the shadow-priest. He too was dressed for the wedding, his tailcoat riddled with moth holes and his shoes held together with bandages. Straw protruded from the numerous stitches and patches in his suit, an in his lapel was a single dead rose, just like the ones in Becky's bouquet. His burlap mask was resolute and formal in expression, and though he did not look at her directly, his glowing orange eyes met hers briefly and she knew he was smiling his crooked smile.

"Do you, Dr. Jonathan Crane, take this woman to be your mistress, in madness and in health, to have and to hold, until death do you part?"

"I do."

"And do you, Rebecca Albright, take this man as your master, in madness and in health, to have and to hold, until death do you part?"

"I do."

"I now pronounce you master and mistress. You may kiss the bride."

Becky turned to the Scarecrow, who towered over her by a good seven inches at least. He leaned down with his mask like a November jack-o'-lantern, his fiery eyes narrowing slightly. She took a step forward and he removed the burlap mask from her face, hay rustling as he did so. She stood on tiptoes to kiss him as she always had.

His mask was cold, his hands were cold, but it wasn't unpleasant. He held her tightly for what must have been an entirely inappropriate amount of time for a wedding kiss, but seeing as the majority of their guests were dead, she didn't care. She put a hand on his cheek, feeling the familiar burlap conforming to his face beneath. She smiled. No matter how many lives he destroyed, no matter how many times he was mocked, no matter how many people screamed at the very mention of his name… the Scarecrow was still a man underneath.

And what man doesn't want to be loved?

* * *

Too soon, Becky bolted upright in her bed, dispelling the dream as quickly and effectively as if she had put a gun to her head. She was breathing heavily and sweating as though from a nightmare, but she felt none of the horrible hot fear that should have been coursing through her. She pulled her blankets tightly around her and picked up the long-forgotten Poe anthology under her cot, leafing through it until she found "The Black Cat." She pulled out the wrinkled photograph she had stored there weeks earlier and smiled.

She soon fell back asleep, Jonathan's Polaroid held in her limp hand over her heart.

* * *

"Becky, what are your plans for the future?"

"Immediately, I plan on forcing some lunch down so I can survive in here. Long-term, I plan on surviving in here, period."

There was an appreciative snigger from the other patients in group therapy. Becky was proving to be quite like Jonathan in her sarcasm and reclusiveness, something that amused the patients and infuriated the doctors. Here they thought they were going to have a normal patient for once, a frightened, confused little girl who had her whole life ahead of her. All it should take was a few therapy sessions, a shoulder to cry on, and some confidence-building exercises. Right?

Wrong. So, so wrong. Although she was timid, Becky had demonstrated her menacing passive-aggressive anger issues numerous times, and she was less than thrilled at having her life dissected, both in private and in public. Also horribly off-kilter was the staff's perception of the relationship between her and Dr. Crane. "Gives me the willies," Dr. Bartholomew would say. "He's not far from twice her age. Not to mention he has no respect for her personal boundaries."

Nonetheless, Becky had adjusted surprisingly well to Arkham for a girl who stood barely over five-and-a-half feet tall and weighed less than a hundred pounds. She had made a large safety net of acquaintances and friends within the asylum, spearheaded by Dr. Crane and his unnerving possessiveness over her.

Dr. Bartholomew frowned. He was failing miserably to keep group therapy on track today. Not that it was his fault, of course—his group consisted of Edward Nygma, Becky Albright, the Joker, and Harleen Quinzell. It was all he could do to keep from bashing his head repeatedly with his clipboard out of sheer frustration.

"I know what I wanna do," Harley piped up as the group's chuckles subsided. Dr. Bartholomew nodded gratefully.

"I wanna get married to Mista J," she crooned, leaning into the clown's shoulder. He grinned smugly and gave her an appreciative squeeze.

"Oh, come on, Harley," Edward said, breaking their tender moment. "You can't get married because you're a felon—both of you are felons, to the largest degree."

Harley looked between the Joker and Dr. Bartholomew for confirmation. "Is that true?" she said, horrified. Edward snickered.

"I'm afraid he's right, Harleen," the doctor said resignedly. "Although—" he added frantically, seeing her eyes well up with tears and knowing that a massive tantrum was on its way—"That's not to say you can't get married eventually. And there is no law preventing you from becoming engaged or being in a relationship with each other."

She beamed tearfully and threw her arms around the Joker. "Oh, puddin', ya hear that? We can be engaged!" she cried ecstatically.

He giggled. "Don't get too far ahead of yourself, Harley-girl. I don't even have the money for a ring." He made a sad face and turned the pockets of his uniform inside-out.

"That's okay, honey," she replied gently, nuzzling his shoulder. "I know you an' me were made for each other."

Bartholomew sighed, wishing he hadn't encouraged her. He glanced around the group and said, "Well, now that we seem to be on an appropriate topic, Mr. Nygma, do you have any… specific plans regarding the future?"

Edward smirked. "If you're talking about Beth, Doctor, I'm afraid I have none yet. A woman is, you know, the hardest riddle of all."

There were appreciative chuckles all around, and Dr. Bartholomew managed to smile for once. His eyes met Becky's for a moment and she stiffened.

"Miss Albright, what are you plans on the matter?"

She glared at the doctor, but answered politely enough. "Interesting you should ask, actually. I had a dream about it last night."

Harley immediately sat upright and stared at Becky intently. "Ooh, what happened?" she asked.

Becky smiled a little at the blonde's child-like reverence for all things romantic. "I got married," she said simply. "And that's all I'm telling you," she said sternly as Harley opened her mouth again.

"Do you plan on having children?" Dr. Bartholomew asked. He actually seemed to care this time.

"I… I don't know," she answered sheepishly. "I mean… I suppose I'd like to, eventually, if it works out. Be a happy housewife and all that."

The Joker snickered. "They could film you as a real-life Addams Family," he mocked.

Dr. Bartholomew gave him a disapproving look. "This is a _safe environment,"_ he said pointedly. Then he decided to change the subject, just to be safe. "What about college plans? You were a student at Gotham State University, were you not?" he prompted Becky.

She was getting uncomfortable at being questioned so openly. She shifted a little in her seat and opened her mouth to respond, but fell silent when a pair of hands gripped her shoulders.

"That's right, Dr. Bartholomew. She was studying law, before she decided to major in _psychology."_

Bartholomew swallowed as Crane stared at him coldly. "I see the hospital has released you," he stuttered. He eyed the man's long fingers as they contracted tightly on the girl's shoulders—he could imagine all too easily what little effort it would take him to throttle her.

"Your brilliant powers of observation would dazzle even Holmes, Doctor." Jonathan pulled up a chair and sat next to Becky, his familiar sneer perfectly in place.

She looked at him. He still had a bit of a black eye, and there were several Band-Aids on his face. Two of his fingers were splinted together and his other hand was in a wrist brace. He sat down slowly and stiffly, his eyes focusing on Dr. Bartholomew once more as silence fell over the group.

"Good to see you back, Burlap," the Joker finally giggled. "You know I was only kidding about the television thing, right?"

Jonathan nodded curtly, one hand still on the back of Becky's neck. Dr. Bartholomew shot him one last unnerved glance before shutting the files on his lap.

"Today's session is over," he said. "You may go to the rec room, if you like."

"Hey, Docta B? Can we go outside?"

Bartholomew glanced out the window. It was sunny for the first time in weeks. He smiled and nodded, calling a security guard to escort them out.

Jonathan's hand clenched painfully on Becky's shoulder when the guard entered the room. She winced a little, but he didn't notice. He stared determinedly ahead, his jaw set and his eyes angry.

* * *

"Hey, Eddie, come over here!"

"What do you want, Harley?"

"Just come here, I found a slug that looks just like you!"

Edward cried out in disgust and flung a chunk of dirt at Harley, who easily dodged it and erupted into a fit of giggles. Joker was drawing absently in the dirt with a stick, humming a show tune to himself cheerily. Jonathan had walked over to a bench and sat down, seemingly without realizing that he towed Becky with him. It was a beautiful sunny day, still a bit cold out, but not enough to make you shiver.

"Jonny, is something wrong?" she said quietly. He didn't respond. She leaned over and tentatively reached out to take his hand. "Jonathan?" she murmured. She didn't want him to snap.

He blinked a few times, his jaw loosening, and glanced down at the redhead beside him. He leaned back in the bench and smiled slightly. "Sorry. I was thinking about—"

"Oooh, thinking about what, Burlap? Tell me tell me tell me!"

Becky jumped in a moment of terror; she hadn't realized the Joker was next to them until his cracked voice had sounded in her ear. Jonathan raised an eyebrow at him disinterestedly. "You really shouldn't scare people like that," he said blandly.

"Ha! Like you're one to talk."

Jonathan grimaced as the Joker continued, in much lower voice, "Really, Jonny-boy, what are you scheming? Explosions? Murder and mayhem? A poisoned water supply, oh my!" He erupted into a cackle.

"Something along those lines," Crane replied, in the same emotionless tone.

Joker grinned excitedly, his black eyes glittering like obsidian. "I've got a little party planned for Friday night myself, actually. I'd be simply tickled pink if you would join."

Jonathan frowned. "It's Wednesday. That doesn't give me much time to make party favors."

The clown shrugged. "You snooze you lose," he said simply, and skipped off to poke fun at Harley.

As soon as he was gone, Jonathan turned sharply to Becky, all signs of frivolity gone. He scowled menacingly and pulled her closer to him.

"Aren't you just a ray of sunshine today?" she said, frowning a little herself. He smirked.

"We've got a party to get ready for, Plucky Becky," he said. "And I know just the man to call for entertainment."


	22. Improvisation

_Improvisation  
_

"Harleen, remind me again what we're going to do?"

"Mista J and me are gonna go have some fun. We got some nice toys and anyone who wants to come is welcome."

"So… let me get this straight."

"Mhmm?"

Jonathan stared down at Harley, aghast at her oblivious cheer. "You're just going to run amok? That's your grand plan?"

"Don't it sound fun?" she squealed. He put his head in his hands.

"Harleen, you can be an imbecile sometimes, you know that?" he said miserably. She immediately stopped smiling and watched him with her wide blue eyes.

"Wh… whaddaya mean, Doctor?" she said nervously, her accent much less pronounced.

"I mean that there is a one out of one billion chance that you'll get past the guards," Jonathan replied. "And the chances of all the necessary authority being successfully distracted at the right time and at the right place are even slimmer." He knew it was harsh, but he wasn't in the mood for her girlish antics. He needed something foolproof, something unstoppable, something like…

"Croc," he said suddenly.

"What about him?" Harley looked at him uneasily, but he knew she was getting excited.

"What if we set Croc loose?" he said, his green eyes feverish with anticipation for the havoc that could be wreaked. "He's got the physical set for tomorrow night, doesn't he?"

Harley grinned, all traces of hurt gone. "I like the way you think, Docta," she said mischievously.

* * *

_"Pat-a-cAke, pAT-a-cakE, BaKeR'Ss maN…"_

Jonathan paused in his work, frowning down at his notes. He had managed to get to his makeshift lab on Arkham, which was little more than a nook in the abandoned maintenance tunnels, but it suited him perfectly. He had hooked up a generator in the corner and put in lights as well as running water. Well, he hadn't technically installed it, per se, because it was all already installed—but he had renovated it and made it fit for his use.

_"BAkE me a CakE as faSst aS yOu can…"_

He began to methodically crush some little orange pills with a mortar and pestle. He had raided the pharmaceutical storage wing earlier in the day to get some satisfactory materials—antidepressants, sedatives, chemicals that no one would miss until they found them coursing through their veins. It wasn't the best way to make fear toxin, but it would do in a pinch.

_"ROoLl it, mOold it, mARk iT wiiTh a B…"_

Of course, if the toxin failed to do its job, he could always invent new ways to utilize a hypodermic needle.

_"Put it iN the oVEn for BeCkY anD mE."_

He smiled his crooked smile, not unlike the broken back-post of a scarecrow. He just needed to send an invitation to the doctor, and then…

Well, let the festivities commence.

* * *

Becky frowned in concentration, holding her marker tightly. She wished she could have utilized a pencil, or even a ballpoint pen, but apparently the Joker's "magic tricks" had ensured that no patients would ever again be allowed to hold a thin, hard object. She sighed wistfully. It wasn't _her_ fault people had such vulnerable eye sockets…

She hunched over the paper, using her Poe anthology as a backboard as she drew. And wrote, and scribbled, and crossed out. She wanted it to be perfect—she _needed_ it to be perfect. She sketched a few careful lines, messed up once, and tried to fix it, but the marker blotted and leaked a big spot on the paper. She let out a frustrated snarl and scribbled out her diagram fiercely.

When she had finished crossing out her failed diagram, she took a deep breath to calm herself. She pulled a new sheet of paper from the small stack on her cot, deciding that some random doodling would take her mind off things. She started with a stick figure, but she made its back too long. She was about to scratch it out when she paused, marker suspended over the paper hesitantly. Then she smiled and began to draw more.

After a few minutes, she stopped to assess her work so far. Yes, it was very satisfactory—childish, perhaps, but clean and clear. She was proud of it. Maybe she would give it to Jonathan to put up in his cell…

She turned when she heard a horrified cry from outside her cell. Dr. Cassidy was staring at her with wide eyes, and although she tried to hide the picture behind her back, the damage had been done. Dr. Cassidy quickly unlocked her cell and took her by the arm to her office.

* * *

"Becky, what—what is this?" Dr. Cassidy said furiously. She held Becky's picture in her hand, shaking it angrily at the redheaded girl in her office. Becky sat with her face in her knees, as always, and refused to look at her doctor.

"It's a picture," she said quietly.

"I can see that," the doctor replied, with an icy tone she had never used with Becky before. She put the paper on the desk—slammed it, actually—and sat down heavily in her chair, causing it to roll a few inches. "Would you care to tell me what it's a picture _of?"_

"Jonathan," Becky mumbled.

"And who's that with him?"

"Dr. Leroux," she said. It was barely even audible, but it left a ringing silence in Dr. Cassidy's office.

"Becky," Dr. Cassidy said. Her voice was much softer now, but it also carried a concerned quiver. "This… picture… demonstrates… It demonstrates a severely disturbed psyche."

Becky was silent, her face still hidden under her arms.

"How does this picture make you feel, Becky?" Dr. Cassidy asked softly.

Becky fidgeted a little in her seat. "Happy," she mumbled. "Safe. Protected. And a little embarrassed."

"Why embarrassed?"

"Because I didn't finish it."

Dr. Cassidy's hand slipped and she dropped her pen. She bent to retrieve it, and when she sat back up, Becky had finally lifted her face out of her knees. She looked positively unperturbed, her brown eyes staring blankly at the doctor, tired and bored. "What else were you going to draw?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"I don't know," Becky said casually, as though they were conversing over coffee and scones. "I thought maybe some more razorblades in his stomach would be a nice touch."


	23. Tonight's Entertainment

A/N: Before you get going, I would like to point out that the Killer Croc in this series is very similar to the one in Arkham Asylum, physically, at least. Arkham Asylum and Hush. Now have fun with that mental image as you read...

* * *

_Tonight's Entertainment  
_

Harley paused as she heard footsteps approaching, grumbling rubber hitting the concrete floor and echoing slightly in the corridor. There were jumbled voices accompanying the footsteps, and over all, the rattling of chains and the buzzing of electroshock batons. She pressed herself close to the wall, her hand gripping her beloved sledgehammer tightly in excitement.

"You hear me, Boles? You're dead meat—"

There was a loud zapping noise followed by a deafening roar from Killer Croc. Harley heard a slight crunching sound and wondered idly if it was bones snapping or if Croc had smashed into the wall. Her curiosity was soon resolved as she saw, with a little disappointment, Boles' heavyset shadow on the wall across from her. Apparently Croc had less fight in them than she'd thought. She grinned. He just needed a little _encouragement_.

"Surprise!" she shouted, leaping out from her hiding place and smashing her sledgehammer against Boles' middle. He cried out in pain and collapsed into a sort of half-sitting position with his legs outstretched.

"Quinn!" he choked. "What the Hell are you—"

"Ah-ah-ah, Frankie," she said cheerily, bringing the hammer above her head threateningly. "If you ask me any more questions about the surprise party, you ain't gonna be invited."

"Party?" he spluttered. He attempted to hit her with his nightstick, but she danced out of the way with a tinny giggle. "Get back here, ya little-!"

She stiffened, sliding out of her attack stance to push her hip out jauntily. She placed a fist on her hip and pouted, "Aw, Frankie, that's no way to talk to a lady." He cursed loudly as she rammed the side of his head with the hilt of her sledgehammer.

"Quinn," Croc growled. She looked up at him, smiling sweetly, her hammer still pushing Boles' face to the side. "What are you doing?"

Her smile widened as she addressed the massive reptile-man before her. "We got a party goin'," she said. "An' you're the guest of honor, hot stuff."

Croc grinned, his large teeth bared menacingly. "You always knew how to make a guy feel good," he said. She giggled happily.

"Let's go!" she said excitedly. She took a step, turned, and looked at Boles thoughtfully. "One for the road," she said to herself, bringing her hammer down on his knees with a sickening _CRACK!_ He shrieked in pain, all color draining from his face.

"You little… you little bitch, I'll get you for this..!" He coughed before slipping unconscious from the pain. Harley merely snickered once more and turned back to Croc.

"Give a workin' girl a ride, Jonesy?" she said playfully.

"Anytime, toots," he grinned. She climbed onto his broad, scaly shoulders and he took off down the corridor, both of them laughing all the way.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

The Arkham patients paused in their dinner, all eyes fixed to the porcelain man standing on a table in the center of the cafeteria. His arms were outstretched as if he were going to bring them all in for a big hug, and his grin stretched quite literally from ear to ear—he'd taken good care to apply the lipstick just right on his scars. His green hair was brushed back, but still unruly from lack of showering.

"If you would be so kind as to shut your pie-holes and direct your attention to me… Thank you, thank you." He lowered his arms and stood regally for his impending speech. His black eyes flickered over his audience, taking in the deformities, the mutations, and the looks of curiosity and contempt aimed at him. He chuckled. "I know some of you are less than thrilled at having your evening meal interrupted in such an unusual fashion, but hey, let's be serious here. The only thing that would make the garbage they pass off for food more interesting than me is if it sprouted legs and walked off—although, now that you mention it, I do believe my ham sandwich did just that a few weeks ago—"

"Cut to the chase, Joker!" somebody shouted.

His grin became somewhat fixed and the laughter left his eyes. He saw the staff congregating near the cafeteria entrance and the security guards becoming antsy. Good, he had everyone's attention. He cleared his throat loudly.

"Well, as I was saying, kiddies, tonight I have a special show planned for you. No magic tricks, I promise—" he laughed at the doctors' expressions of horror. "Just some good, old-fashioned oohs and aahs."

There was a loud crash outside the cafeteria door on the other side. He checked the clock. "Oh goodie, they're ahead of schedule," he giggled. Then he focused once more on his audience. "Well, as much as I hate to cut short a good speech, the time has come to say adieu."

Another crash, much louder, and the sound of metal being scraped. The door shuddered.

"And so I say it with a heavy heart, my friends! Ah, parting is such sweet sorrow!" The Joker fell to his knees, clutching his chest dramatically. "Oh, I'll miss you!"

The door shuddered again, cracking open a bit and revealing a flash of teeth and claws on the other side.

"Joker, what the Hell is going on?" somebody shrieked.

The door exploded open and Killer Croc burst into the cafeteria, Harley Quinn riding on his shoulders. There was a moment of stunned, terrified silence, which was quickly shattered by the Joker's deranged cackle. Croc grinned, his teeth shining with saliva, his nostrils flared. His yellow eyes were bright with animal instinct as he opened his mouth and said huskily, "Dinner time, huh? I'm starving."

And then everyone leapt out of their seats, screaming, running for the door. "Faster, pony, faster!" Harley squealed delightedly as Croc lunged into the crowd, grabbing an orderly and shaking him like a ragdoll. The Joker launched himself into the fray, pushing and pulling and generally causing whatever mayhem he could.

Dr. Cassidy was lucky enough to have been pushed to the back of the crowd when the Joker first stood up. She knew something bad was happening, and as soon as she heard the screech of claws on metal, she knew that Killer Croc was loose. She took off sprinting when the screaming started, the guilt of being a coward overridden by her terror and desire to survive.

"Dr. Leroux?" she shrieked, stopping halfway down the corridor to stare at the teeming mass of people in the cafeteria. "Dr. Leroux?"

He was nowhere to be seen. She took in a few gulps of air, heart pounding, and hardened her resolve. If he was in the cafeteria, he was already beyond saving. But if he wasn't…

Dr. Cassidy thought about Harleen Quinzell and Jonathan Crane. She thought about Lyle Bolton and Jeremiah Arkham's health issues. She thought about what happens to people who pour themselves into their work at Arkham Asylum.

She took off again, sprinting through the corridors like a deer from a pack of wolves. She needed to find Dr. Leroux, and she needed to find him now.

* * *

Becky wasn't in the cafeteria when Croc ripped through the doors. Jonathan had told Edward, and Edward had told Beth, and then Beth had told Becky to stay in her cell. So she sat obediently on her cot, waiting like a dog for its master. She perked up when she heard footsteps approaching over the faint screams in the distance, looking out of her cell eagerly as a security card was scanned and the Plexiglas wall slid open. She leapt off of the cot and took a few frantic steps forward, and then she stopped and took two halting steps back. She fell back against her cot as her savior approached. He took her arm roughly and yanked her up, surprisingly immune to her struggling against him. She dragged her feet along the floor, but when he quickened his pace, she was forced to jog along behind him.

"We need to talk, Rebecca," Dr. Leroux snarled.


	24. Modus Operandi

A/N: I think this will be the last chapter. I may add an epilogue, but it's not likely. (Oh, and Crane's little rhyme is a take on a Sale/Loeb Halloween special - .com/gallery/#/d4szor6) Thank you so much to everyone who read this and reviewed!

* * *

_Modus Operandi  
_

"Eew, Croc, you really need to work on your eating habits…"

Killer Croc looked up from the severed limb he was sucking on. Harley wrinkled her nose playfully at him. Croc smirked and chewed on a piece of muscle, a satisfied purr rumbling from his throat as he glanced at the blood smattered all over her uniform. "Like you're one to talk."

"Whoopsie, Croc-o, I think you may have missed a spot," the Joker teased. He pointed to an orderly who was struggling to get up—despite the fact that he was the source of Croc's current meal.

Croc laughed, rough and deep and horrifying, picking some fragments of bone from between his teeth. Harley stood and stretched like a cat after a particularly satisfying nap. Her blue eyes—well, eye; one was covered in a smear of blood—fell on the clock and she gasped, dropping her sledgehammer with a loud _clang._

"What is it, pooh?" Joker asked curiously. Croc paused in his munching and looked at her as well. She rushed into the small pile of dead and injured in the corner of the room, inspecting each face.

"I was s'posed to do something for Docta Crane," she said anxiously. "I was s'posed to find that new doctor and bring him—"

"Oh, Harley-girl, don't worry about him," Joker said with a wave of his hand. "You saw that little girl he's so into. I'm sure he's off doing… whatever it is he does on a date. You wouldn't want to walk in on that, would you?"

Croc choked on a finger. "Now _that's_ scary," he agreed. All three of them burst into laughter.

"Actually, now that ya mention it, Puddin'…" She trailed off and batted her eyes at Joker. He grinned and took her hand.

"Have fun with your snackies, Jonesy," she giggled as the Joker threw her over his shoulder and left the cafeteria. Croc chuckled and finished the limb he was eating, his yellow eyes scanning the room for anything else that looked appetizing.

* * *

The Scarecrow prowled down the concrete corridor, leaving no evidence except his long shadow on the wall beside him. He could hear the screams from the cafeteria calling him like an insistent dog, but he had much bigger things to deal with. He came to Becky's cell, stopped, and stared at the empty cavern.

Gone.

Why was she gone?

He had told her not to go. He knew that she knew not to go to dinner. Then where—

Of course.

The straw man let out an angry growl as the pieces fit together. Of course _he_ had to come, of course he had to _save_ Becky. His hands clenched slowly into fists and he walked to the end of the corridor. He stopped and looked at the sign on the wall.

MEDICAL.

VISITOR CENTER.

He examined the sign intently, glancing down the diverging corridors in frustration. Where would he have taken her? Surely not to any public place; so that ruled out about half of the asylum. Perhaps to his office? No, no, that was far too formal. Where would…

The straw man's head snapped up as realization hit him. The roof. It had to be the roof, it had to be the one place they had privacy and space and a five-story drop to the cemetery below. He grimaced and began running down the corridor on the left.

* * *

"Rebecca, Rebecca, why won't you look at me, Rebecca?"

Becky huddled in a corner on the roof, nestled under the ledge uncomfortably. She shivered; it was cold outside, and now it was dark and a fine mist had begun to soak her skin too. It didn't help that she had been forced into her none-too-modest costume.

She clenched her fingers in the wet yarn hair on her mask, trying to take solace in the familiar clothing. The corset was comfortingly stiff and close, as were her striped stockings and gloves. Her skirt pooled around her like a tiny oasis, and the mask provided a welcome barrier between Dr. Leroux and her face.

"Rebecca, please…"

She felt a pudgy hand reaching under the ledge and tried to shrink away. She felt like a tiny spider when a bigger spider comes along to swallow it up. He grabbed her arm and she wrenched it out of his sweaty hands, only to have him snatch her leg and drag her out instead. She cried out in anger and fear, kicking viciously, but he was a large man with large arms that afforded a large reach, and therefore more distance between his hands and his face. Her bare feet flailed for a few seconds, finally connecting with something solid. She felt angular bones and he recoiled with a shriek, releasing her leg to clutch at his nose.

"You—you little—" he cried furiously as blood poured down into his mouth, making him splutter. "How could you?"

"How could _I?"_ Becky screamed, finally finding the strength to stand. She pointed a finger at Leroux as though it would stab through his heart. "How could _I_, you sick f—"

She didn't get to finish her curse, because his hand flew through the air and smashed against her face, knocking her to the ground. She lay there in shock for a moment, her mind racing, screaming at her to get up and fight.

"We could have done this the easy way," Leroux said, menacingly quiet. She couldn't see him, but she heard his breath coming in pants, closer and closer. She tried to stand and run, but she only got about halfway and ended up crawling away like a worm. He ran up to her and stepped on her back, pushing her spine into her stomach painfully.

"We could have done this painlessly, Rebecca!" he shouted, pulling her mask off, as well as a few strands of hair. She cried out in pain, trying to wriggle out from under his foot, but he grabbed a fistful of her red hair and pushed her face into the concrete ground.

"We… we could have had everything!" She could feel his blood dropping onto her shoulder blades. It was warm and sticky and it made her want to vomit. "WE COULD HAVE HAD EVERYTHING!" His voice cracked as he began sobbing. He removed his foot from her back and pulled her upright by her hair, ignoring her screams of pain. "But no," he panted furiously, tears and blood streaming down his face as he forced her to look at him. "No, you just had to _ruin everything, didn't you?"_

She opened her mouth to say something, glaring at him, but he wrapped his thick fingers around her neck—his cold, sweaty fingers that were far stronger than she'd expected and that closed around her throat like snapping jaws. It felt like he was going to break every bone in her body, like he was going to tear her apart with his bare hands. He snarled like a rabid dog and shook her violently.

"You took everything!" Leroux screamed. Saliva hit her face and she gagged. "My job, my life—my reputation—my heart!"

"No!" she cried hoarsely. "No! NO!"

"Yes yes yes, Rebecca," he said feverishly, shaking her again. She clutched at his arms, nails tearing the skin, but he didn't seem to notice. "Don't you remember? The first step in re-entering society is coming to terms with your actions!" He tightened his grip with one hand, while the other moved to his pocket and pulled out a scalpel. She immediately fell silent, watching it in terror as it shone in the moonlight.

"There, that's better," he panted, grinning maniacally. "Now. You are going to apologize for all the things you've done. You are going to apologize to me—" she shook her head frantically and he twiddled the scalpel between two fingers—"Or I am going to kill you, Rebecca."

"Don't you know, Doctor? Death threats don't work on BrAVe, PlUcKy beCKy ALBrIght."

_Attacker and victim instantly turned to look at the intruder. The Scarecrow leaned nonchalantly against the doorway to the maintenance stairs, his arms crossed. He almost looked amused at the scene unfolding before him, but Becky could see the rage in his glowing eyes. He stood and took a step towards Leroux._

"I'll kill her," the doctor shrieked, turning Becky around and forcing her onto her knees in front of him. He lifted the scalpel threateningly. "I swear I will, Crane!"

_The Scarecrow paused._

_"KniCk-kNAcK..."_

He lunged at Leroux and immediately knocked the scalpel out of his hand, forcing Becky out of harm's way with a kick, and took the syringe of fear toxin from inside his suit and stabbed the needle deep into the doctor's neck.

Leroux cried out in pain and wrenched away, breaking the needle off and tearing a nasty hole in his skin. He held his hands up to fight, but his eyes were already blurring in and out of focus as the toxin took its hold.

"Why, Doctor?" The Scarecrow snarled, pushing him down. He crashed to the ground like a drunken oaf. "Was it her personality? Was it her anger?" He kicked Leroux in the stomach. "Was it her fear?"

The doctor shrieked in horror and balled up on the ground as the toxin raced through his veins. "It was, wasn't it?" the straw man hissed. He looked down at the pudgy man in disgust. "It was the way she shook. It was the way she cried. It was the way she screamed."

"Then what—makes me—so different than you?" Leroux managed. The Scarecrow stiffened and the doctor glared back at him, his pupils dilating with terror. Despite his overwhelming fear, the doctor actually managed to grin at the straw man. "You just want—to make her scream—"

The burlap man glared at him, filled with more rage than he had ever thought possible. He let out a snarl—it was more of a roar—befitting of Killer Croc and dragged the doctor to the ledge of the roof, dangling him over the perilous drop.

"You wouldn't," said Leroux, narrowing his eyes and struggling to keep from hyperventilating. As confident as he may have sounded, he felt like his heart was going to pound right out of his chest. It was all he could do to keep from screaming like a newborn baby at the horrifying Scarecrow threatening him. Its eyes burned like a nuclear fallout, maggots and snakes crawled through its burlap skin, diseased elixirs oozed out of every orifice.

"Try me." The straw man's grip loosened on Leroux's shirt but he held fast as a tiny, black-gloved hand grabbed his arm.

He looked down at the hand, with its pale, slender fingers, and then up the bony arm and into Becky's face. Tear tracks cut sharp, shining lines down her cheeks and there was an angry red mark on her jaw where Leroux had struck her earlier. A tiny blue-ish bruise was already spreading from the middle like ink. She was no longer crying, and her face was almost blank, but he could see from her determined brow and her blazing eyes that she was just as angry as he.

"Don't kill him," she murmured, tightening her grip on the straw man's arm. He slowly pulled the doctor back onto the roof, his glowing eyes never leaving Becky's dark brown ones. Leroux fell to his knees and crawled over to her. He tried to wrap his arms around her legs but she kicked him hard in the throat, and he fell back with a nasty wheeze.

"Death would end his suffering," she said, her voice hard as she stared down at the doctor with unbridled hatred. He looked back at her, sobbing uncontrollably, finally becoming overpowered by the fear toxin. He screamed as Becky advanced on him, crawling backwards into the ledge, knees shaking too hard to support himself. The straw man followed, producing a baseball bat from his overcoat.

"What's the matter, Doctor?" she shrieked, finally allowing her emotions to control her actions. She took the bat and raised it over her head. "Don't want a taste of your own medicine?"

There was a whoosh as the bat sailed through the air, a clap of thunder, and another of Leroux's womanly screams. Rain, heavy, real rain, replaced the meek drizzle of before and hit them like rocks. The Scarecrow laughed his high, deranged cackle as Becky screamed at her tormentor, bringing the bat down again and again and again.

The Master of Fear watched for what felt like hours as his beloved mistress smashed the bat against the doctor's body, grinning at the shrill screams she wrought. Leroux was almost dead; blood was spattered everywhere, as well as chunks of flesh and hair. He wondered how many bones she had broken so far._ There's a rib,_ the straw man thought amusedly as he heard a sickening crack and the bat came down on Leroux's chest.

Becky continued to beat the doctor, long after he had fallen silent and still. Her arms grew tired, and she almost dropped the bat a few times. Eventually the straw man stepped up behind her.

"Unfortunately, my pet, he won't get any more dead," he murmured, taking the bat from her hands. She resisted at first, but then she let go and her shoulders slumped, allowing herself to come out of her rage. He set the bat on the ground and watched as she looked down at her hands, smeared with blood. They were barely trembling.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, her mouth trying to form words, but no sound coming out. She smiled a little, a deranged, terrified smile, and she held her bloody hands out to him as if in a question.

"It's alright," he said softly. He wrapped his skinny arms around her and hugged her tightly, pressing his burlap cheek to hers like a cat rubbing against its master. Her hands clenched on the back of his suit as if she wanted to suffocate him.

"Am I going to have nightmares?" she whispered.

The straw man pulled his mask off and smoothed her wet hair away from her forehead. He looked down at her bloody hands and the red smears they left on his suit, the bits of life that had flown off of the doctor and stained her clothes, her wide, teary eyes, her trembling lips. He smiled and kissed her nose comfortingly.

"No," he whispered back.


End file.
